#i’ve been trying to describe this to my friend for weeks.

[eemolu]

i can’t believe tamsyn muir fucking said this. i can’t believe how right she is. i want to take her out for tacos and have an emotional affair with her that ruins me for all other dinner partners.

[galariangengar]

💭

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’ve been hyper fixated on Batfam and DC in general for the past two months, and this is what my brain has been cooking. This is based on an fem!OC I made, but I converted it to GN!Reader. Or attempted to. Might write an official one with the oc. I don’t know. I’m new at this stuff and doing this on mobile to boot.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Reader grows up happy, healthy, a safe away from Gotham

Momma and Daddy (step-father) adore their darling reader

Daddy is kind and understanding; gives good advice, encourages reader, comforts reader after nasty break ups

Momma is sassy and a bit possessive of her baby reader

Momma never tells reader anything about their biological father (He was a big city playboy that missed the court date for custody is all she said)

Reader has a much younger half-brother from Momma and Daddy, who reader also adores

Little Brother’s are annoying, but you have so many interest in common

Suddenly Momma and Daddy are dead; (tragic accident or murdered)

Reader’s Bio Father, Bruce Wayne is called and flies into town via Private Jet and whisk you off to Gotham

Bruce can’t get custody over half-brother due to Reader’s step-grandparents fighting him.

(They tried to keep Reader too, but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court. And, Bruce has enough money to make that water run dry)

Bruce isn’t exactly like Momma described, he’s distant and a bit cold with reader. (Like he doesn’t know what to do.)

Bruce gets upset when Reader talks about missing Momma and Daddy, especially when Reader talks about Daddy.

Bruce doesn’t introduce Reader to the family right away.

Reader doesn’t see anyone, but Bruce and Alfred for the first week at the manor.

Bruce avoids reader, but gets upset when Reader ignores him

Reader starts researching their new family. Everything they can find in the media, even the company.

(Family Buisness funds the Justice League? Gotham gains a new Vigilante almost every time Bruce gains a new kid? Jason Todd’s death and reappearance. Suspicious…)

Reader finally meets the others.

First up Cassandra.

Quite, but watches reader like she knows all of reader’s secrets. (That’s terrifying.)

Reader’s instincts scream that she’s dangerous (Reader trusts those instincts.)

Reader is still nice, they get along. Cass rather be alone, but it’s cool. They’re cool.

Second up is Duke.

Duke is great. Official bro. Passes all the vibe checks. (Most normal one in this house.)

Reader’s meta abilities go haywire around him, so Reader needs to be careful. (Reader’s not sharing that secret yet. Not till they share what Reader suspects is their secret)

Third, Dick and Barbara.

Dick is a whirlwind, coddling and pitying, treating reader like a sweet helpless child then leaving. (He’s a busy popular man)

Barbara is polite, but a stranger.

Reader tries to be friendly, but can’t get past the stranger stage.

Fourth Stephanie.

Stephanie politely ignores reader, but reader genuinely wants to hang out. (Similar interest, close in age. Please, can we be friends? ……….)

Reader says they’ll keep trying (It happens… eventually….)

Fifth, Tim.

Tim just brushes Reader off with a blank look and disappears.

Reader can never find Tim. (Always in the cave, at work, on patrol. He’s a busy busy busy sleepy man that avoids even the mention of Reader)

(Stephanie hangs out with Tim though, but they still ignore reader. It’s fine. Reader is fine. It doesn’t hurt.)

Sixth is Jason.

Jason is mean.

Calls reader spoiled, says reader a an ignorant privileged princess, Daddy’s pet, a brat, etc.

But, then leaves when reader starts to snap back.

(He looks like he’s struggling not to strangle reader almost every time reader sees him.)

Seventh is the youngest and reader’s half brother.

Reader is excited to meet him, reader already has a younger half-brother. Having two sounds even better!

Damian is cruel

It breaks reader’s heart.

Damian either ignores reader, or mocks reader viscously. He’ll push and shove and throw things at reader. (Won’t draw a weaponed though, he’s past that.)

He brushes off all of Reader’s attempts at sibling bonding.

All this goes on for a few months.

Reader tries so hard to get close to everyone, but they’re either avoid her, ignore her, are cruel, or they just don’t have the time.

Reader’s life in Gotham is… different.

Reader’s a commodity, and, surprisingly enough, most people like Reader

School Friendships form, which reader worries are because they’re a Wayne child

(Which is true, but not in the way Reader thinks; hint: it involves other types of night avians)

Teacher’s appreciate a humble Wayne (Damian goes to the same school, Reader is a relief to teach)

Reader is quite talented, not a prodigy, not extraordinary. Just extremely approachable.

But, like all good things there is a downside.

Reader wants to spend time with their new friends.

They’re invited to Galas, lunches, brunches, vacations, shopping, etc.

And Reader WANTS to go

But, Bruce won’t let them

It’s not safe

(Which Reader understands, that’s why they never really explore Gotham, but still brunch couldn’t hurt, right?)

So Reader has no one to lean on or connect with. It’s isolating.

Instead Reader spends hours talking on the phone to their old friends and family back in their small town.

There’s a silver lining though: Things are going to get better before they get worse

So much worse

[rinhaler]

𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

would you fuck your high school bully if you got set up on a blind date with him? if he was hot, probably, right?? ... right?

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ ex bully!rensuke kunigami x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: a concept that has rotted my brain for weeks now. ty to @chososdoll for beta reading as per ♡ Warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption, pro player!kunigami, pleasure dom!kunigami, consent check, overstimulation ♡, multiple orgasms (duh!), pussy eating ♡, fingering, slight nipple play, dumbification, size difference, vaginal sex, dacryphilia ♡, enemies to lovers?, pool sex ♡, skinny dipping, morning sex ♡, wake up blowjob, shush kink?, praise, reader has pubes! (landing strip), calls your pussy 'she', bullying mention, pet names (baby, princess). Words: 15.1k

“This seems a little…”

“What?”

“Sad.” you laugh, repositioning yourself on the couch beside your best friend as you watch your fourth horror film of the evening. She tuts, but not before gesturing that she needed a refill on her wine. So, you reach over to the side table and start taking off the lid for her. “I don’t know. It feels a bit desperate, no?”

“No!” Maisie objects.

She can’t remember the last time she heard you gush about a guy. And honestly, neither can you. It’s been forever since you went on a date. And it’s been even longer since you got laid. You shake the thought away as you pour the red liquid into her empty glass.

You’re happy alone, for now, you think. It’s not like you feel lonely. Admittedly, it isn’t the best feeling when you have to listen to all of your friends talk about their date nights or cosy nights in with their partners. It isn’t the end of the world, though. Maybe happy is a strong word to describe how you feel.

You’re content being alone.

“I’m not saying you have to marry the guy,” she continues, lifting the wine to her lips when you finish filling her glass. “Just meet him. He’s so sweet, and he’s gorgeous!”

“You fuck him then!” you laugh. She takes the opportunity to flaunt her engagement ring that she hasn’t even had for a week yet. You roll your eyes, but laugh, grabbing her hand so you can examine it again. It is beautiful. Are you a bad friend? Because the stab of jealousy you suddenly feel is almost painful. “I’ve never been on a blind date. I didn’t even realise they were still a thing, why won’t you just show me him?”

“I promise he’s extremely sexy. Trust me, if I wasn’t engaged I’d definitely take him for a ride.” she giggles, and you laugh back at that. She has similar taste to you, so you’re sure you’ll feel the same way when you see him. It’s intimidating though. You’re putting complete faith in her that she won’t fuck you over. And then, you realise, you’re thinking about it as if you’ve already accepted. Maybe it’s a sign. You should just take the plunge. “I don’t want to tell you too much and spoil the fun, but—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Y- really?!” she wiggles a little closer to you in excitement, her wine sloshing in her glass as she approaches. “I’m gonna text him now! Eeeeeeek!” she squeals, putting her wine down and picking up her phone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her fingers move so fast as she texts the mystery man.

You want to pry for more information, but you know her too well. She’s stubborn. And the blind date aspect for her is too exciting. There’s no use trying to get her to spill. Though it doesn’t stop you from attempting to extract even a slither of information.

“How do you know him?”

“He’s a client.” she pays you no mind, perfectly manicured fingers tap away at her phone as she formulates a text message.

You’re surprised, for multiple reasons. You hadn’t expected her to answer that truthfully, let alone with no hesitation. It came so easy for her to say; which means one of two things. Either, it’s true, or, she had a well-crafted lie prepared in case you asked that very question. But if it’s true… that’s interesting.

She’s a social media manager. And while her clients aren’t necessarily A-Listers, they aren’t exactly nobody’s, either.

“Oh my God, is he a footballer?” you smile, widely. She peers up from her phone and you find it hard to read her expression. She’s always had a good poker face, but you’ve known her long enough to recognise her tells. And when she licks her lips, you have your answer. “AH! Is he rich? Oh I bet he’s gorgeous, fuck, is he shredded? Like—”

“The horny jumped out!” she laughs, and you playfully hit her arm before laughing along with her. She doesn’t say anything else about it. Now, she is fully committed to the blind element of the date. “I’ll drop you off, I’ll tell him what you’re wearing so he knows it’s you. He said he’s free Thursday night, does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Great! So 9PM on Thursday.”

“Um…” you hesitate. Fucking 9PM? You know you aren’t that old, you’re in your mid-twenties for crying out loud, but that seems very late. You’re usually tired by 10 o’clock. But you refuse to risk her chastising you for being boring. So, you suck it up with a beaming smile, “Perfect.” it almost hurts to say.

She claps, enthusiastically, before picking up her abandoned wine glass again. You’re both silent, fixated on the movie. But you spot Maisie out of the corner of your eye finish her drink in a hearty swig. You don’t comment, though, still trying your damnedest to focus on the movie. It’s too late, though, you’ve missed most of the plot since she started plotting and preparing your upcoming date. You don’t dare break the silence, though. She looks utterly engrossed.

However your own attempt at concentrating is thwarted when you hear her glass land a little too harshly onto her coaster. It doesn’t smash, thankfully, but you’re both staring at each other after that.

“I haven’t got a fucking clue what’s happening in this.” she admits, and you laugh, agreeing. “Let’s go plan your outfit for Thursday!” she suggests, throwing the blanket you’re sharing off her body before walking hastily to your bedroom.

This is so her.

She’s more excited for this date than you are.

“Deep breaths, you look gorgeous!” she assures you, holding your hand as you squeeze it again and again to calm your nerves. “For what it’s worth, by the way, he’s my sweetest client. He’s really respectful and kind, a lot of them can be rude but he’s never been like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! He’s really understanding.” she nods, eagerly. “Do you want me to come in and wait with you?”

“No, um… c-can you wait and let me know when he’s coming in? Or, just be here in case I get stood up.”

“Don’t even think that, he’s excited! He’ll be here. I’ll drop him so fast if he does, but I know he won’t.” she assures you.

You take another deep breath before smiling at her. She reaches over to give you a hug. It’s a tight, reassuring squeeze that makes you feel better for a fleeting moment. She waves like a child when you step out of the car, and she wolf whistles before you close the door.

If nothing else, at least you look good. You both agreed that there’s nothing like a little black dress, and your high heels accentuate your legs. They clack as you stomp across the pavement. And when you realise your steps are in time with your heartbeat you think it wise to slow down.

As the entrance to the restaurant comes into view, you look down the street and give your friend one final wave. Though, really, it’s meaningless. You know as soon as you sit down you’ll pull your phone out and start texting her in a panic. The maître d’ welcomes you with a beaming smile, checking the reservation list for the booking strategically made under Maisie’s name.

Still so committed to the blindness of the date.

It’s sort of exciting to think he doesn’t know anything about you, either. Though it’s scaring you slightly that he could take one look at you and turn around. And you won’t know until it’s too late. You won’t know until you’re being pestered to order after telling the wait staff that your date hasn’t arrived yet several times.

They’ll have to be polite despite how humiliating it is to tell you that other patrons need to be seated and seen to and you’re wasting their time. You’ll have to swallow your pride and leave. You can’t possibly eat alone after shouldering such a burning humiliation.

Oh God.

You text Maisie. And your fingers tremble as you type out the message. Telling her that you cannot go through with this and that you’re about to leave. A barrage of texts come through as she tries to give you a pep talk. But your anxiety flares and your leg begins to bounce as you try and shake the nervous energy from it.

Part of you thinks it’s best to stay sober, but your body is screaming differently. One drink won’t hurt, you decide, ordering two glasses of wine in case your date ever turns up.

And then you remember who he is. Or who he might be. He’s a client of your best friend, the social media manager. He must have some level of fame to need that representation. You’re pretty sold on the idea that he is likely a footballer. And through this thought process you manage to relax, if only a little. If he’s famous, he could be busy.

You decide to offer him some grace.

Though you should have given him the time to be really late before you got so worked up. You’ve only been seated for three minutes, after all. It’s not like he’s stood you up for an hour. You decide you’ll give him fifteen minutes before you leave. That’s a suitable amount of time to be able to leave and not look really foolish.

Every person that enters makes your heart race. Is it him? Only to realise it’s a couple or a double date or a family party in tow. You check the time on your phone, nine minutes have passed. Your cheeks fill with air as you puff it out slowly through pursed lips.

YOU: he’s not coming. MAISIE MOO 🐮: dw he just called me! he was stuck in traffic!!! YOU: rly? MAISIE MOO 🐮: yah! should be there any minute, have fun 😉

Your heart rate intensifies again as you see a man walk through the entrance and close an umbrella as he greets the maître d’. It prompts you to look outside, the windows are practically black save for a few lights on in the buildings across the road. But your eyes focus on the fat raindrops and their white outlines as they roll down the glass. How didn’t you notice the sudden torrential downpour?

Even from your seat at such a distance from the entrance you can see how large and well defined his hand is as he shakes raindrops from his orange hair. The colour makes you shiver, but you bat it away. It’s him, it has to be him. He’s alone, after all. And you see the maître d’ smile in your direction.

Hell, he might be happier that he showed up than you are.

You hear him laugh, and it’s deep, as he’s guided into the restaurant. And you can’t help but smile as you see him. He’s handsome, very handsome, and he has such a positive energy beaming from him. His face seems warm despite being chilled by the wetness of the rain. There’s pink in his cheeks and at the tip of his nose as he continues to smile kindly.

And, really, you’re speechless.

He smiles so sweetly, you almost didn’t recognise him, as he takes his seat opposite to you. And he thanks you for the wine. His eyes betray him as he looks at you with optimism. You know him, you’ve always known him. Those amber eyes that you’ve never seen in another man again since him. They seem so kind, now.

But you know better.

While he knows nothing.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he grins, looking briefly over the menu. “I got stuck in traffic and then I had a hard time in the car park.” he laughs, his thumb indicating he’s referring to the multi-story car park down the road. The one notorious for its broken machines and confusing layout.

“Well, you’re here now.” you smile, weakly. Tipping the remaining contents of your glass until it flows between your lips. It goes down smooth and you almost feel it swim directly to your braincells, feeling slightly faint until your senses return to you again. You blink it away, and your eyes squint at him suspiciously. “Excuse me, I have to pee.” you tell him.

“Oh, sure.” he smiles. “Should I order for you if the waiter comes by? What would you like?”

“Are you paying or are we splitting the bill?” you wonder, taking his menu from his hand before he can even register that it’s gone. Your eyes scan the menu quickly, not looking for anything in particular.

“I’m old fashioned, so—”

“Great, then I want this.” you tell him, pointing to the most expensive meal on the menu as you place it back into his grip. He chuckles, gently, before looking up at you. Your smile filled with anger and malice as you turn on your heel to find the bathroom. “Oh, and an expensive meal should be paired with an expensive drink, right?” you tell him, leaving before he can respond.

He watches as you approach a waiter, asking where you can find the bathroom. They point you in the right direction. But before you go, you point towards the table your date is still seated at, telling them you’re ready to order. You ascend the staircase to the second floor and slip away into the bathroom and out of your dates line of sight.

Your heart pounds furiously.

Little hands shake as you search for your phone in your purse. Christ, you could use a cigarette right now. You feel light-headed as you take deeper and deeper breaths as you pull up your texts, your fingers tremble as you lean against the sinks.

YOU: do you hate me? be honest MAISIE MOO 🐮: ???? what’s wrong? Do u think he’s ugly? YOU: no he isn’t ugly. ANNOYINGLY. UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MAISIE MOO 🐮: … MAISIE MOO 🐮: what? YOU: do u remember me telling u about a school bully 😊 MAISIE MOO 🐮: stop it YOU: YOU SET ME UP ON A DATE WITH MY BULLY!! WHAT DO I DO?? MAISIE MOO 🐮: NOOOOOOOOOO MAISIE MOO 🐮: OMG OMG OMG IM SORRY MAISIE MOO 🐮: FUCK YOU: I told him to order me the most expensive stuff on the menu bc he’s paying.. so I might just eat and dip MAISIE MOO 🐮: stopppppp omg lmk when ur done I will pick u up im so sorry ily

You sigh, putting your phone back in your purse. Is that really the right thing to do? Maybe not right, it’s morally wrong, of course. But is it the best decision to make? Do you really want to sit and eat a meal you probably won’t enjoy with your former bully watching your every move?

“Fuck.” you whisper to yourself. You decide to pee while you’re here, and you wash your hands for longer than you intended. It’s distracting you from your worries as you stare at yourself in the mirror and feel the comfort of the warm water encasing your hands as you clean them. You shake them when your done, little drops of water landing back in the sink before you go to the hand dryer. Maybe you’re stalling. You’re definitely stalling as you realise you’re drying your hands for far too long.

With one final look into the mirror, you take a deep breath and decide to return to your date. He smiles as he sees you descend the stairs again. And instinctively, you smile back. It’s a habit you’ve developed, not necessarily a bad one. But in this instance, it feels like a betrayal to yourself. You tell yourself to remain straight faced as you sit down, pulling your chair closer to the table.

“I’m Rensuke, by the way. I realise I didn’t introduce myself.” he grins, beaming white teeth almost blinding you as he awkwardly holds his hand out for you to shake. “Sorry, been a while since I had a date.” he laughs as he puts his hand down.

“I know who you are.” you laugh in return, though it’s not because of what he said. You just can’t help but find yourself amused over the fact he doesn’t recognise you. He laughs, too, looking a little uncomfortable all the while. He scratches his head as he nods, coming to his own conclusion.

“Oh, right. You’re a football fan, then? Sorry, you didn’t strike me as the type.” he continues, assuming you’re familiar with him through his fame. You hold your eyes shut for a beat too long, an annoyed smirk creeping its way onto your face as you try to bite your tongue.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” you comment, taking a swig from your newly filled wine glass. He cocks his head in confusion, but drinks with you. “So, why are you here? In London, I mean. I assumed you’d be… not here.” you ask, unable to control your tongue. There’s venom in your words, but not enough to kill.

“Um, I—” he clears his throat, coughing into his balled-up fist. His honeyed eyes find yours again, an incredulous look appears on his face as he formulates his thoughts in his mind. “I feel like I’m being set up.” he chuckles, though you can sense the worry behind his voice.

You take another sip from your wine glass. A sip turns to a glug as you empty the red liquid from the crystalline glass. You refill it yourself; sensing things are about to go south very quickly.

“This wasn’t really a blind date, right? Maisie told you who I am and you wanted to meet me. Am I right?” he wonders. And at that, you do scoff. And now you’ve lost all interest in holding your tongue.

“Oh my God. You’re so full of yourself, you haven’t changed at all.” you tell him, crossing one leg over the other as you rummage through your purse in search of a cigarette that will never appear. “I had no idea I was being set up with you. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have agreed.” you tell him without remorse. Defeated, you throw your purse down to the ground by your feet.

There’s a sense of shame flaring within you that you couldn’t keep it together until the end of your date. Of all the people roaming planet earth right now, why did he have to be your blind date? You stare at him as you observe his confused expression, he’s utterly bewildered by your words.

“I’m… we’ve met before, huh? I’m sorry, I’m having trouble remembering. I— are you a fan? Or… were you?” he asks, trying to decipher your identity. You scoff, again, preparing to stand to your feet. He reaches across the table and grabs your wrist. You look down at his large, veiny hand and then into his eyes. Your own vibrating with a slight twinge of fear. You feel like that teenage girl all over again.

“Let. Go.” you warn him, voice quiet through your gritted teeth. He relinquishes his hold of you instantly, apologising profusely. He’s just confused about what he could have done for you to hold such disdain for him. But your warning replays in his mind like a record on repeat. It’s like his fractured memories are forming again, becoming whole as he hears your voice again and again.

Let go.

You sounded so much weaker back then. You’re more defiant, now.

“Are you Ryusei Shidou’s little cousin?” he asks, eyes widening and brows raising in excitement. You sigh, sitting properly in your chair with correct posture as your eyes look angrily at him.

“No, I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not really cousins your families are just close. I remember.” he smiles. His eyes almost dazzle as he looks at you, all recollection of his past hits him like lightning as he repeats your name again and again like a mantra. “Is that really you?”

“It’s really me.” you repeat, sarcastically. “Cancel the food order, you can still pay for the wine.” you tell him as you pick up your purse and prepare to leave.

“What? Why? We should catch up!” he tells you, an expectant look on his face as he hopes to convince you.

“I don’t want to catch up with you?” you tell him.

“But… why not? It’s been so long since we saw each other.”

You signal the maître d’ when you finally catch his attention. Rensuke looks disappointed as you continue to ignore him. Instead, you alert the man that you’ll be leaving early and to cancel your orders. But you make sure to tell him that Rensuke will happily cover the bill. And he does, hastily pulling out a wad of cash from his wallet as you depart the restaurant. He hurries after you, he’s in slight disbelief when he realises how fast you are. You’re almost halfway down the road when he finally exits the restaurant.

“Slow down!” he calls out to you, running right up behind you until he’s walking at your pace. He opens his umbrella and holds it above your head as you carry on walking. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep this up.”

“Leave me alone.”

“At least take my umbrella.” he requests, “I’ll go to my car and leave right now if that’s what you really want. But at least take it while you wait for a ride home.”

You accept, not too proud to take something that might offer you a small comfort in the absolutely obscene downpour plaguing the city. How quickly you’ve transformed from a vixen to a drowned rat. He must be loving this.

“I really would like to catch up with you, y’know…” he smiles.

You look up at him as the rain soaks his gorgeous gingery locks dampening and sticking to his forehead. Maybe he has changed. It’s been years after all. He’s grown up, it’s plain to see from his chiselled jawline alone. And he was always big back then. One of the tallest guys in your class, and so big and beefy to boot from playing so much football and training in the gym.

He terrified you.

And now, he’s bigger. An inch or two taller and completely filled out into an even more muscular physique.

“I can take you home, too. You don’t need to talk to me if you don’t want to… but, it’s freezing. You’ll be waiting ages for a taxi or for Maisie to come get you.” he speaks softly. And unfortunately, he’s right. You know all too well how tough it is to get taxis around this time, but it would be worse if it was the weekend so at least you’re thankful for it being a Thursday. You want to decline. You’re so ready to decline.

But for some reason—

“Okay.” you nod. You walk ahead, though, leaving him behind as you walk to the parking complex you’re pretty confident that he used. He laughs, hurrying after you again and allowing you to lead the way. It seems you know the area way better than him.

He guides you to the elevator and to the top floor of the complex. You aren’t sure what you expected when you step out. It’s not like you’re familiar with cars. But you were expecting some kind of expensive sports model. A Ferrari or something. Instead, you’re greeted to a black Range Rover.

It’s definitely outside of your pay grade, but you can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“I thought you’d have a nicer car, Rensuke.” you decide to goad him, thinking it’s the least he deserves at this point.

“This is my incognito car.” he smirks, looking over his shoulder at you as he unlocks it. Of course he has an incognito car. You huff a little as he helps you up and into it, closing the door behind you. He circles around the back and you see him looking around in the boot before he comes to the driver's side and sits behind the wheel. He gives you a towel, presumably used for his training days, and tells you to dry off. “My nicer cars are at home, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, wait…” you snicker as a thought comes to you. “Were you gonna try and pretend you’re a nobody if I didn’t recognise you?”

His face fills with a pink hue as he feels completely caught out. And you can’t help but burst into hysterics. It’s tough for him, meeting girls who will actually like him for him and not his bank account. When Maisie suggested a blind date, he thought it was as good a chance as any to try and form a natural connection.

“Anyway, I’ll take you home now.” he tells you, trying to change the subject. “Sorry the date didn’t go to plan.”

You huff, again, as you try to dry your skin with the towel. Eventually you give up and use it as a horribly soggy blanket. “I can’t believe you even wanted to go on a blind date. Girls used to throw themselves at you in school. I told Maisie a blind date seemed really desperate.”

“Did we go to the same school? I was a virgin ‘til we left.” he informs you. You look at him, surprised, and he nods to clarify. “I was focused on football and shit, didn’t have time for girls.”

“Well, you had time to bully one girl.” you remind him, regretting saying it instantly. You thought confronting him would feel better than this, cooler. Like you can finally get closure and make him feel almost a fraction as bad as he made you feel back then. But instead, really, it just feels… cringe.

He offers a weak smile at you. The tension could be cut with a knife as he pulls out of his parking space and drives down each floor. He wants to say something, and really, so do you. Maybe you should just let the hatred go. It was a really long time ago, after all.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good guy back then, but I like to think I’ve changed a lot.” he speaks, eyes focusing on the road as the street lights and car beams blind him in the rain. “Your cousin bullied me, y’know. Dunno if he ever told you, but I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair though, so I’m really sorry.”

“He is not—”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, princess.” he smirks, “I wouldn’t want to claim a relation to that blonde freak either.”

The insult towards Ryusei makes you laugh. You’re still close with him to this day, and ‘blonde freak’ is the perfect descriptor. But you don’t like to think of him as being capable of bullying. You had a feeling that was why you were subject to Rensuke’s torment each day, but you didn’t want to discover the truth. He always made it a point to vilify you for being related to Ryusei. Though you adamantly denied it each time.

“So, you were a prick to me for being related to someone I wasn’t even related to?” you respond, seriously. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Though you’re unsure any answer to his bullying would have made you feel better. It hurts to know you suffered so much, ultimately, for nothing. “Wish I told him you were picking on me, he would have fucking killed you.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” he laughs a little. It’s soft, but not weak. It’s almost like acceptance. As though he deserves anything and everything you’ll throw at him. “We’re good now, though, if we’re in the same place we’ll meet up for drinks. He’s a fucking good player, too. Always admired him. He kept me in my place for a long, long time.”

You stare at him as he speaks. How have you never noticed how soft his features are? He’s so relaxed, peaceful. He looks at you briefly when he notices you staring, but just as quickly looks at the road again as his cheeks fill with heat, reddened with embarrassment.

“I was immature…” you start, looking down at your shivering, wet thighs as you decide to accept your own faults, too. “It’s been a long time since then. And we were young, it’s obvious that you’ve changed. I didn’t give you a chance and I was childish.”

“No, no—”

“I’m serious. Ordering the most expensive stuff and going off in a strop, that was really immature so... I’m sorry.” you tell him, and he smiles at that. He can’t help but think you’re a great girl. He looks over at you again, smiling so widely his eyes close.

“You never gave me your address, y’know.” he reminds you, laughing when the realisation hits you that you’d let him drive off with no real destination in mind. “Is it too late for that catch up?” he wonders, looking at you with hopeful eyes. The orange and brown colour tainted with sparkles of red as the stop light reflects from them.

And you’re powerless.

You find yourself agreeing before your brain can even keep up with the way you’re shaking your head. No, it isn’t too late. And his smile is almost as blinding as the headlights of each car in the road illuminating the falling raindrops and deep puddles forming in the street.

“I know where we can go…” he thinks to himself

Bowling.

You never thought you’d be coming somewhere like this. Truthfully, you feel like a kid again. You remember skimming some money from your daily lunch allowance given by your parents to save up enough to go to the arcade every weekend with your friends. Saving the extra coins to use the DDR machine.

Let’s just say you mastered Captain Jack on expert difficulty.

“Another strike? You’re too good, puttin’ me to shame.” Kunigami laughs before picking up a ball and preparing for his turn. “You better not tell anyone you thrashed me; my reputation will be in tatters.” he warns you, jokingly.

You watch him as he takes a swing and hits all but two pins, leaving an awkward split between them. You hear him mutter under his breath but can’t decipher whatever it is he was talking about.

For some reason, you feel like he’s going easy on you. It’s not like he was a stranger to the arcade either back in the day. You always scarpered whenever he showed up with his friends, deciding it was the perfect time to grab a bite to eat and hope by the time you were done they’d be gone.

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I knew you were gonna show me up like this.” he smiles, sitting next to you after completing his turn. “I didn’t know you liked bowling, thought you just liked using the dance machines.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah, uh,” he chuckles and scratches the back of his neck as he recalls the memories from way back then. “Me ‘n Raichi, remember Raichi? Anyway, girls on the dance mats… well, we were teenagers, so—”

“Oh my God you’re so embarrassing.” you interrupt him to put a stop to his stuttering.

“Look, it was a sexual awakening that’s all I’m saying.” he laughs. “And you were the best one, never missed a step. I remember we used to watch you for ages before we came in to scare you away.”

“Disgusting. Pair of perverts!” you lightly smack his arm as you continue to tease him. “I was good, though. Wonder if I could still pull it off…” you look at the machines in the distance as you contemplate restoring your former glory, you feel a newfound sense of confidence as you think about Rensuke finding you attractive back then.

You decide to go for it.

He follows you as you approach the machine, standing on the second player arrows right next to you.

“Always wanted to try!” he shrugs as you look at him suspiciously. “You can teach me.”

“No, I can’t.” you laugh, slotting two-pound coins into the machine so you can both play. “It’s just memory and hoping your feet will respond in time. Good luck, though.”

“Yeah, sounds like you have real faith in me.” he rolls his eyes, throwing his coat over the red metal bar behind him and rolling up his sleeves. You quickly kick off your high heels as you scroll through the songs. You hover over Captain Jack, and his face lights up as memories of you back then flow through his mind. “You always did this one. There was a different one I remember liking, though…” he tells you.

He starts to scroll through the songs, listening to them carefully as he searches for the one he remembers. Your eyes widen in horror as he settles on one, and he looks at you with pride.

“This one!” he exclaims, loudly.

“No, no way. I could never get the hang of it and I’m even more out of practice now. Afronova is too hard it won’t even be fun!” you warn him, but he wiggles his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Let’s do it la—” he interrupts you by pressing the select button.

“It can’t be that hard.”

“You put it on the hardest difficult, idiot. We’re fucked!” you laugh, but get into position. You’re both definitely going to fuck it up, but at the very least you’ll get a good laugh out of seeing him eat his words.

All colour drains from his face as he sees all of the arrows immediately come into view on the screen. He barely knows where to look let alone where to plant his feet. He looks at your side of the screen, though, seeing you miss a fair few moves yourself but you manage to keep up the pace enough to earn some words of praise from the machine.

If you’d know you were going to be doing this, you definitely would have worn a bra. You hold your arms across your chest as you continue to jump and follow along with the arrows as best you can. Kunigami, however, decided to give up and watch you instead. He puts his feet down a few times on ones he think he might actually be able to get.

You’re left panting by the time the song comes to an end and your final foot stomp leaves you breathless. Rensuke claps, proudly.

“Fucking hell.” you gasp for air, leaning over the red bar behind you. You think you might actually throw up. “You dick, you barely did anything either.”

“I was captivated by the master at work, you were amazing!” he praises you, and you can’t help but giggle. “I think we should do an easy one next.”

“Agreed…” you respond, flipping through the songs until you land on 5678 by Steps.

You both laugh and joke as you easily follow along with the routine on baby mode. And it’s easy to keep up a conversation with him like this. Discussing more memories of spotting each other in the arcade and what you got up to on weekends.

It makes you sad, in a way. Knowing how sweet he is now and what he was capable of back then. You could have been friends, great friends. Maybe even best friends. Though you’re sure Raichi wouldn’t have liked that.

He allows you to pick your favourite song for the final round. And, naturally, he can’t keep up with you. But this time he actually does his best. But for you, it’s like muscle memory. You don’t miss a single step through the whole routine and you don’t even feel out of breath when it’s over. Kunigami however is sweating and panting again, his already wet hair sticking onto his forehead again as the sweat clings to it.

“It’s getting late.” you tell him, “Should we get some gross bowling alley food and call it a night?” you wonder, moving to pick up your discarded high heels so that you can decide what to do.

He rushes by you and hops off of the step, snatching your shoes up before you can. You watch him, nervously, as he gets down on one knee while holding your black pumps. You’re too speechless to object when he helps you slip your feet back into them, so delicately. And he smiles up at you from his lowly position as you gain another six inches of height. He holds his hand out to you, helping you down the step after you take it.

You exhale, deeply, after feeling how unbelievably soft his hands are.

“I think I’ll get a hot dog.” he thinks, not letting go of your hand and he leads you up the small flight of stairs and into the eating area.

“Oh, the burgers were good last time I came here.”

“Ohhhh fuck you’re right, I’m getting one too.” he laughs, ushering you into a secluded spot to sit down. “What do you want to drink? I’ll run up and order everything now.” he smiles.

You quickly look through the drinks menu and tell him you want a strawberry and lime Kopparberg. He nods approvingly at your choice. You watch him walk up to the bar to order, unable to take your eyes off him. He’s chatty with the bartender, and you wonder what else they’re talking about. You see him grab a pad of paper and a pen from behind the bar, handing them over to Rensuke. And he smiles, happily, signing it for him. You see the man thanking him over and over before Rensuke walks back over to you.

“You only just got recognised?” you tease him.

“It’s rarer than you’d think, y’know.” he laughs, “he said his kid is a fan. No big deal.” he shrugs, sliding your drink over to you.

He moves on from the subject of his fame and status in favour of complimenting you again. Telling you how talented you are and how fun it’s been hanging out with you again. You end up telling him about your job. It’s nothing fancy but pays the bills. You tell him about how you pretty much fell into the job of doing admin work for a law firm and now you’re training to be a solicitor.

His face lights up as you tell him. Like he’s proud. Or maybe it’s a twinge of relief that he didn’t fuck you up mentally enough to ruin your life. Either way, his smile is contagious. It only grows wider when your two plates of food are put down in front of you. And you hate that you’re trying to eat politely. There is absolutely no way to eat a dirty burger in a ladylike manner. He laughs at you when a dollop of ketchup drops on your chest and tries to slither down your cleavage. But, ever the gentleman, he cleans it up quickly with a napkin.

“Sorry,” he hesitates after realising how intimate it is. He hands it to you and you finish clearing your chest. “Good call on the burgers, though, they’re so good.”

You smile as you chew your food, still doing all you can to appear polite and demure. But he doesn’t mind, or care. Canines tear his burger apart with ease, and he can’t seem to stop himself from smiling each time he looks at you.

“So,” you start, putting down the final bite of your burger in favour of taking a swig of your drink. “You perving over me, did that affect the bullying?” you wonder, laughing lightly as he almost chokes on his food.

“I wasn’t perving, it was, I— ugh. I always thought you were cute. But I wasn’t about to tell you that.”

“You thought I was cute?”

“Oh, like you didn’t have a big fat crush on me? I heard the rumours.” Kunigami laughs, drinking his beer as he leans back into his seat.

“No, no, rumours and hearsay. I told one girl I thought you were hot on our first day and it turned into a game of broken telephone and spread like wildfire. I hated you!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” he winks before taking another drink. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret.”

You shake your head, opting to finish your burger instead of disputing it further. He does the same, leaning back and sighing with relief before taking another drink. He slaps his stomach, as if he’s gained a beer bellying rather than possessing the rock-hard abs that you know reside there.

“This was fun. Really fun.” he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to get comfortable in the booth seat. You nod, agreeing. “What are we calling… this?” he wonders.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it just a ‘catch up’ or could it still have been a date?” he asks, smiling when your eyes widen and your face flushes with heat so much that you feel the need to fan yourself. You tell him that you’re just hot from eating, but another cocky eye roll tells you that he’s not buying that. “I’m hoping you’ll say it was a date, if you were wondering.” he speaks, low and gravelly as he leans across the table to tell you.

“Well, it was technically a date. Just not the location we’d planned.”

“I enjoyed this a lot more.” he tells you, looking around at all of the arcade machines and the people bowling in the distance. “I go to snooty restaurants a lot, I don’t get a chance to relax like this as much. So, thank you.”

“R-Right, no problem.” you smile, unsure of what to say. “I guess we should get going, then.” you finish, gathering yourself and clutching onto your purse as you prepare to shuffle out of the booth. He looks a little deflated, then, but he follows your lead.

He puts his arm around you as he guides you to his car, helping you inside again. He even gives you his jacket to wear when he notices you shivering. Though you opt to wear it over yourself like a blanket.

You look out of the window as he climbs inside and shuts the door. The rain stopped while you were bowling, but it’s still so dark out. It’s damp and dreary, it’s just miserable, really. But the cold chill of staring out into the black abyss leaves you when Kunigami turns on the radio. Some generic pop music you’ve never heard in your life, and it makes you feel old and out of touch. But the face he pulls says the same story, and he begins flicking through other stations until he hears something he recognises.

“S-So… do you live nearby?” you ask him, curiously.

“I do! Just got a new place a few weeks ago, I’m still unpacking.” he smiles as he envisions all of the moving boxes still piled up in each room. “So where am I taking you?”

“If you go to Maisie’s office I can direct you from there.” you tell him, clicking your seatbelt into place as he pulls up directions on his phone to the office. You look out of the front window when you hear raindrops begin to pitter patter again. “Um… Rensuke…” you start, hesitating to speak as you wonder what the fuck you’re even thinking of doing right now.

“What’s up?” he asks, eyes darting to you before he starts the car. The only thing that can be heard is the light drops of rain. It makes your skin jitter, you feel a chill as you look at Kunigami, the rain rolling down the windows in your peripheral vision and you feel thankful to be here and not out there.

You feel desperate. And you’re sure you’re going to humiliate yourself, but you don’t want the night to end. In a million years, you never would have pictured yourself enjoying the company of Rensuke Kunigami. He’s a busy man, you’re sure. He fit you into his busy schedule and you’re sure he has better things to do than spend all of his free time on a date. A date that is supposed to be drawing to a close.

But you don’t say that.

In fact, you barely say anything.

He can’t help but smile, though, knowing exactly where your next destination will be.

“I don’t want tonight to end, either.” he confesses. You feel your body become lighter as you realise he feels the same way. He starts the car promptly, and you note how sure he is about where he’s taking you. “Can I show you my new place?” he asks.

He’s so cocksure as he says it. His eyes don’t meet yours and you sense it’s because he knows you’ll say yes. And who are you to disappoint? You’re curious, anyway. You wonder if it will be as impressive as you’re envisioning in your mind. Footballers are rich, aren’t they? But maybe he isn’t a high earning player. Either way, you’re curious to see the home that your former bully has worked so hard for.

You lose track of time as you pull up to his house. Or mansion, you should say. He’s allowed through the security gate currently being manned by a member of staff, and he drives up and towards a three door garage. You can’t believe you’re visiting somewhere like this, it feels like a dream.

It’s something Maisie is accustomed to, Rensuke even tells you how confidently she strutted around and didn’t even bat an eyelid when she came over to discuss his contract. But you’re left speechless as more comes into view.

He doesn’t bother parking in the garage, pulling up directly to the stairs leading up to the front door. He’s out first, doing a little jog around your side to open the door and help you out.

“I didn’t bring you here to brag, by the way.” he insists.

“And here I was thinking you were trying to woo me into bed.” you laugh, and laugh harder the redder his face becomes. He holds his hands up defensively, waving them dismissively as he tries to assure you that was not his intention.

“I’ll take you home right after if you want! I swear I wasn’t—”

“Relax! I was teasing you.” you tell him, bumping into him as you enter the mansion. He offers you a drink, which you accept, happily. He pours you a glass of wine but gets himself some water directly from the tap. “You aren’t drinking?” you question, feeling a little uncomfortable that you’re drinking alone.

“I won’t be able to take you home if I drink more than I already have.” he chuckles, handing your wine to you.

He drinks his water, and you take a sip of your wine. His smile, that beautiful smile, it’s so disarming. You’re tottering on your heels to walk by his side as he encourages you to follow him. You feel as though time is flying when he takes you from room to room. There are still moving boxes in each room but it doesn’t detract from the lavishness of it all.

You laugh when he tells you there’s a tennis court out back.

“What are you going to do with a tennis court?” you giggle.

“Play tennis, I suppose.” he laughs back.

You don’t mind even a little when you feel his cold hand come into contact with the even colder skin between your shoulder blades. You mind even less when his hand snakes down your spine and settles in the small of your back as he guides you to the next room.

“Oh wow…” you express, hit by the warmth of the room. Your heels clack against the tiles with each step you take. You leave his side as you get closer and closer to your target. And you scream, smacking Kunigami’s arm as he rushes behind you and presses his fingers into your sides. “An indoor pool… you’ve really fucking made it.” you tell him, and he shrugs.

“There’s one outside as well.” he informs you.

“Now that was a brag.” you laugh.

“Shit, was it?”

“Absolutely.

You crouch down to the balls of your feet, letting your fingers swim through the pristine pool water. You aren’t quite sure how to describe the colour of it, but it’s mesmerising, as if sage and turquoise paint mixed specifically to fill this pool.

He takes your hand and encourages you to stand upright again. And he doesn’t let go as he leads you out of the room. The thought of going back to your poky apartment after being in here is harrowing.

It almost feels like he’s doing charity work.

There’s a rumble outside that causes you both to stop in your tracks. And once you enter the living room again, you see the heavy rain pouring down violently on the windows again. It’s louder than before. The raindrops are weightier.

He squeezes your hand as you yelp after seeing a bolt of lightning pierce through the sky. You look up at him, eyes full of grace as those honeyed eyes warm your soul for the umpteenth time tonight.

“There’s a weather warning from The Met Office…” he tells you as he checks the time on his phone. He lets go of your hand to look at you again, unsure of what to say. “I can take you home… before it gets any worse…” he whispers. His voice betrays him, though. You can hear the voice of a liar interspersed with his desperation to be a good guy.

He doesn’t want you to leave.

You don’t want to leave, either.

“It’s… dangerous, though…” you start, looking out of the window again at the gloomy weather.

“In that case…” he bends down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You should stay.”

You mewl, softly, as he not-quite kisses against your ear and the smooth skin behind it. And your head tilts, for him, so that he can press one final kiss against your neck. You don’t want it to stop, but he withdraws himself with a cheeky smirk while your eyes are heavy with lust.

It’s been so long.

Too long.

You might have lived your whole life up to now without being kissed like that.

He curls his finger, instructing you to follow him back upstairs. You put down your wine glass and hurry after him. He doesn’t wait, this time, leading ahead as he brings you to one of the bedrooms.

“Wait here.” he commands, and you do.

You walk up to the standing mirror against the wall and check yourself out. Trying to make sure you makeup hasn’t smudged or there isn’t food in your teeth. Your hair is still soaked, but that can’t be helped. When he walks back into the room you quickly back away from the mirror as if you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“The bathroom is just opposite to here.” he reminds you, pointing.

You look down at the pile of items he brought in from another room. There’s an unopened three-pack of toothbrushes and a brand-new tube of toothpaste. You can’t help but smile when you pick up the rolled-up ball of white, fluffy bed socks.

And you hate to admit how your knees go weak when you realise he’s gifted you with his football jersey to sleep in for the night. There are shorts, too, but you doubt you’ll need them. You want to keep your dress on for as long as possible. You’ll just sleep in the jersey and your panties when you’re ready.

“Thank you.” you smile at him. You notice the tips of his ears and his nose turn a blush pink as he sees you holding up his jersey and modelling it against your body.

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves the room, giving you the space you need to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing. You take the opportunity to freshen up, you pick up the dental hygiene products he’d thoughtfully left for you and head to the bathroom. You catch his figure slipping into his own bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

Your mind runs rampant now that you’re truly alone. Look where you are. You’re brushing your teeth and preparing to spend the night in Rensuke Kunigami’s house. Sorry, mansion. How the fuck did this happen? Your heart begins to race. Are you actually going to fuck him?

You can’t.

You can’t.

You can already feel your inner child cussing you out for letting him kiss you like he did, no matter how brief it was. It helps, slightly, to tell yourself you have a reason to spend the night. The weather. It would be dangerous to drive in weather like this.

But, Christ, you can feel your cunt throb with want as you think about him railing you in every room of the house.

“Stop.” you whisper to yourself.

You finish brushing your teeth and spit into the sink. And that is when an idea hits you. You splash your face with water and find some cleansing wipes in the cupboard underneath. You start getting ready for bed. Because that is what you should be doing. Sleeping, alone, until you can go home.

When you’re done clearing your face you decide to slip into the clothes Kunigami gave you to wear. Even the ill-fitting, downright hideous shorts.

You emerge from the room, and see Kunigami appear again with a wide smile.

“Hey—”

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.” you blurt out, awkwardly, and Rensuke stops in his tracks.

“Oh… really?”

“Yeah I’m… tired.” you lie, already turning back into your room. “Goodnight.” you call out, not bothering to look at him as you’re already shutting the door behind yourself.

“Goodnight.” he replies, the disappointment in his voice doesn’t go amiss.

You can’t.

You just can’t.

You can’t fucking sleep.

It’s closing in on midnight when you check the time, and you have a multitude of texts from Maisie blowing up your phone. You can’t bear to respond, though. Not after all of the horror stories you told her about Rensuke. The thought of her knowing that you’re spending the night at his house is just embarrassing. Even though it is innocent enough. You didn’t even kiss, really. You’re just sleeping until morning.

But you can’t sleep.

Your mind is racing with ideas of what could have happened if you didn’t say goodnight. What else could you have gotten up to if you hadn’t had your responsible brain hardwired in. You’re thankful for it, you are. But just because it’s responsible doesn’t mean it’s always right. Right? It’s been so long since you’ve gotten fucked.

Are you depriving yourself over something so trivial?

You throw off your duvet and prepare to leave the room. You’re not looking for him. In fact, you’re hoping he’s asleep, like you should be. But if he catches you roaming the halls, you’ll just tell him you were going to use the bathroom.

The corridors are cold. The chill in the air caresses your no longer covered thighs, you discarded the shorts barely any time after you said goodnight.

You aren’t sure where you’re going, you only have the flash from your phone to light the way. You’re sure he wouldn’t mind you turning the lights on, but you don’t want him to catch you if he is awake. And you don’t want the light creeping into his room to disturb him if he did actually manage to get to sleep.

When you find yourself in the same room as the swimming pool, you have no idea how you even got here. It’s like you were summoned. It’s a mermaid’s lagoon and you were drawn in by a sirens song.

You can’t remember the last time you swam. It’s not like the weather is ever nice enough for it, and you hate public pools. But this… it might even help you feel tired enough to sleep.

You look behind you and approach a set of loungers.

As you’re about to pull Kunigami’s jersey over your head, you screech. The sound of breaching water echoes through the room and you turn around, sharply, to see the source.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the room. “Were you looking for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” you yell, laughing soon after. “I- I couldn’t sleep. You almost gave me a heart attack, I didn’t even know you were in here!” you tell him, truthfully, and he laughs. He swims under the water from one end of the pool to the other. You stand at the edge when he comes up for air again. “I just couldn’t sleep.” you confess, though it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Your voice is quiet and mousy so that your words won’t carry throughout the room.

“Me neither.” he tells you, looking up at you as he does. You notice his eyes stray, catching a glimpse of your panties under his jersey before he shamefully looks away. But he looks, again, as he admires you in his jersey. “Why can’t you sleep?” he asks, the sound of water pouring is boisterous as he raises his hand and pats the edge of the pool.

You look at it, his hand, and understand what he’s doing.

You can’t.

You can’t.

But you do. You crouch down, submerging your lower legs in the warm liquid while it ripples against the back of your thighs and ass. Your breath hitches when you feel his hand on your thighs and raking up the sides. He stands up, his forehead resting against yours as water cascades from his soaking body.

You can’t bring yourself to care when you feel it splash up against you.

The only thing on your mind is how close he is.

“Why can’t you sleep, baby?” he tells you in hushed tones. The weight of his words and the way he speaks them makes your body limp. But he’s there to keep you upright. He angles his head so that his eyes, those honey pot eyes, can focus on you. Your words die on your tongue as you try and formulate a lie.

One won’t come.

“Why did you say you were going to bed when you weren’t tired?” he whispers, again, and you feel your resolve begin to crumble. He’s like an archaeologist, meticulously brushing at an ancient relic that he has no business handling.

He should have left you be.

“I… I don’t know, Rensuke.” you lie. And it’s an awful lie. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he hears you struggle to think of anything better than that. He knows. You both know. That’s why you can’t object when he pulls you closer. His hands force your legs around his waist. How did you get here?

“You look good, princess,” he tells you, tugging gently as his jersey, looking down at the strip that drapes like silk over your cute tits and perfect frame. “Want you to have it…”

“But it’s yours.” you respond. You’re a little taken aback by how demure your voice is as you speak. It’s like you’re instinctively making yourself small for him. Your inner child is protecting you, still to this day. He shakes his head at your words, though.

“It’s yours, I’ve got plenty.” he assures you. He keeps a tight grip of your thighs as he begins to walk you further into the pool. You wrap your arms around his neck and will yourself to remain some semblance of control. But he smirks, his nose touching yours before he pulls away again. “You’re coming for a swim… do you want to take it off?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen in horror as you recall your decision to decision to forgo a bra, knowing it would ruin your outfit. You shake your head, defiantly.

You can’t.

You can’t.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath…” you inform him. He chuckles, at that. In his mind, he knows. And deep down, you know it too. If you don’t find your willpower soon, your bare-naked form won’t be an issue. He closes his eyes and holds them shut, laughing when you repeat his name a few times in an attempt to get him to open them again.

“Take it off, ‘m not looking. You can hide under the water.”

Your movements are halted but for barely any time at all. He has a way of making you submit to anything he wants and you aren’t sure why that is. You were so mad at him hours ago. You didn’t even want to have dinner with him.

But look at you now.

Your legs are wrapped tight around his waist and you’re throwing his football jersey away. It doesn’t land on a lounger, but near enough. And you hold onto his shoulders as he begins to walk you both deeper and deeper into the pool. You don’t want him to feel you, not like that.

It’s getting out of hand.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t help it.

“You can open your eyes.” you tell him, and he stops walking. His eyes slowly open and it takes an incredible amount of restraint for his eyes to not wander beneath the water. And, you feign innocence. You aren’t sure what is wrong with you, because you know you shouldn’t have. But you look away, pretending something in the distance has piqued your interest.

You give him the opportunity to leer at you.

And he’s so thankful.

Even submerged and obscured by the greenish, dithering water, your body looks like an oil painting. To him, you’re a work of art and he’s grateful that you’re even letting him experience you in the slightest. But this… you’re a masterpiece, he thinks.

“Hey,” he speaks, he moves a hand from your thigh to your chin and you cling to him instinctively. He guides your line of sight back to him, looking back at you with a serious stare. “You don’t need to fight me, you know.”

Your heart practically stops at that. At the very least you think it skips a beat. But you hold his stare, eyes vibrating as you look between his as you search for an explanation. Are you truly so easy to read?

He sees you wrestling with your conscience. He doesn’t want to intervene, but what else can he do? He pulls you closer to him, a surprised whimper leaving you as you feel your bare chest come into contact with his.

It doesn’t register to him, though.

You don’t fight when his lips begin to trail your own. No pressure is applied, but you’re breathing is heavy. And he can’t deny that his is matching your own.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.” he reminds you, quietly. Your eyes weld shut and your self-preservation begins to scream at you. Imploring you to have some fucking common sense.

You can’t.

You can’t.

“I know…” you confess.

You look at him briefly, giving him silent permission to proceed. And he takes it. Without hesitation he takes it as his lips capture yours in a sweet kiss. You feel like you’re in a romance novel as it continues. It’s polite but not entirely tame. And for you, it’s been entirely too long since you last kissed anyone. You feel him smile into the kiss when he hears the softest little moan crawl out of your throat. But it fades, fast, when he remembers how lucky he is to be experiencing this.

He doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t.

And so, he takes it seriously. He brandishes the plumpness and texture of your lips to the forefront of his mind as you allow him to continue. He implants the way your body arches into his as his fingers trace up the curve of your spine, and how your mouth parts ever so slightly when he reaches the nape of your neck.

You’re perfect.

“Has it been a while? Since you had sex.” he asks, quietly, like it’s some sordid little secret. You feel embarrassed when you register what he’s asking. The insecurity creeps in and you try to pull away. He doesn’t let you, though, pulling you closer and reaffirming his interest with another searing kiss. “You’re so responsive, baby, that’s all.” he tells you.

You kiss him again.

And you feel pathetic. Like a dog humping a stuffed animal as you begin to instinctively roll your hips against him as you beg for more.

“Feels like forever…” you confess, hiding your words into another kiss and hoping he’ll forget you even uttered them. You hear him grunt when you sensually slip your tongue between his lips. He reciprocates, licking at yours as he carries you to the edge of the pool again. “W-What about you?”

You regret asking. Of course, the answer won’t be the same for him. He’s gorgeous. Beautiful, in fact. He’s rich, famous, successful. You’re another in a long line of women who throw themselves at him when given the opportunity.

You certainly aren’t naïve enough to think otherwise.

“Since I had sex? Not too long ago.” he responds, and it’s effortless. You knew. You fucking knew and yet you’re still feeling hurt. And you feel ashamed of yourself in the same breath. It doesn’t matter, really, you know who came before you and who came before him are irrelevant to what’s happening right now in this moment. But still, the feeling of embarrassment lurks. “I don’t remember the last time I fucked anyone the way I want to fuck you, though.” he finishes.

And now, you’re ravenous.

Your lips find his again. And the politeness has died, drowned in the pool along with your morals and self-respect, you figure. Your fingers grab and pull at whatever they can find. One hand finds purchase on one of his biceps and digs and squeezes into the hard flesh. The other tugs and pulls at his hair residing just above his undercut.

And he moans when you yank his pretty orange tufts. He breaks the kiss, laughing, for a moment after he recognises what you just stole from the pits of his lungs.

You feel your ass come into contact with the edge of the pool as he sits you down in the middle of a kiss. He breaks it, sinking down further into the water until you’re looking down at him. Your heart rate quickens as you feel deft fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

And you can’t control your body, moving on autopilot as you lean back and keep your legs together as he steals the black lace from your body. He has no regard for where they land, but you hear a faint splash as they float on the surface of the pool. You won’t see them again, you think. They’re soon to absorb the chlorinated water and sink to the tiles framing the pool.

You sit back upright but find yourself unable to meet his eyes again. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling as he gently pries your thighs apart one by one. He’s slow, and careful, as he parts them. Soaking in the sight of your intricate folds.

“Pretty everywhere, huh? So fuckin’ pretty…” he expresses. You feel his thumb drift along your inner thigh to your pubis. A soft, low chuckle escapes him as it comes into contact with your pubic hair. A perfect landing strip guiding his eyes to your scintillating cunt. “You did this for me.” he states. He doesn’t ask, he tells you. And your eyes snap back to look down at him, defensively splashing him with water.

“I didn’t know it was going to be you,” you remind him. “I wanted to be prepared in case I—”

“But it was me.” he interrupts, wrapping his arms around your thighs after wiping the excess water from his face. “You’re letting me see. So it’s all for me, princess.” he continues. You don’t have a response, despite his logic seeming broken at best. It’s for him, now. But had you known who would be walking into that restaurant…

His breath fans across your heat as he places his thumb at the top of your lips and pulls back the hood of your clit. You gasp, letting your head sink as you lean back on your hands and rest your weight on them. And he spits on it, sucking at it soon after.

“’h my God…” you start, moving a hand to his hair, threading your fingers through damp, orange strands as he continues to suckle at your clit.

You’ve lost the means to feel embarrassment anymore as he looks up at you with his head buried between your thighs. Though you can’t deny the hot flush you feel as he makes a holy show of flattening his tongue between your lips and licking upwards from your oozing hole to your still exposed clit.

But you lose him, again, as he decides to focus.

He didn’t think he could burrow any deeper between your legs until you feel his still hooked arm drag you closer to the pools edge. You tug at his hair again when he finds his rhythm, and he emits another grunt that vibrates throughout your sex.

You admire how his muscles flex as his grip around your thighs intensifies. He feels how your hips begin to buck, like you’re getting there. Like he’s helping you get there but you’re still trying to run from him.

You can’t.

Not anymore.

He looks up at you with golden retriever eyes as you begin to moan. It’s quiet, until it’s not. Quiet, secretive breaths begin to turn into sinful, saccharine moans that echo right back to you as they bounce from the walls.

His nose wiggles and nestles against the perfectly formed line of your pubic hair. It tickles, but he’s always had an affinity for landing strips. It’s nothing he can’t handle. And it’s something that drives him wild.

You clamp your legs around his head as you start to dance along the cliffs edge of your orgasm. But he parts them, easily, his veins bulge in his hands as he grips tightly into the doughy flesh of your thighs.

“Ren- Rensuke—!” you cry out, unable to even warn him before he’s already dragged you into toe-curling bliss. And he prolongs it, divinely, not altering his ministrations even as you begin to shudder and scream. “S’too much, Rensuke, f-fuck…” you pant, looking down at him as he finally begins to slow down.

“’m not done, though.” he warns you. He liberates your left thigh from his grasp, but his fingers lightly trail down your inner thigh and he can’t help but marvel at the sight of your sensitivity. You twitch and spasm from the lightest of touch.

Though the whine that rips through your vocal chords is just as delightful. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t even predict it when you felt two thick fingers seamlessly slot inside of your clenching entrance and curl up against your g-spot.

“Fuuuuuck, no, Rensuke, c-can’t.” you warn him, partially succumbing to light headedness as you feel him hone in and target your squishy slippery inner walls without remorse. You’re shivering. You’d like to think it’s just the exposure of wet skin to the stormy air, but it’s too much. You know it’s too much.

“You think too much,” he tells you, head sinking low again to continue feasting upon your gorgeously ruined flesh. Your pussy pulsates through the recent orgasm and the overstimulation. He’s going to be disappointed when he realises you can’t even fathom the idea of cumming again.

You just can’t.

Your body goes limp as he nudges a particularly delicate spot and presses down on your lower abdomen. The moan that leaves you at the feeling is downright pornographic. You can’t see, you can’t feel, but he’s smirking. He doesn’t relent, but his ego and his cock swell with pride as that salacious fucking moan plays on repeat in his brain.

The hand applying pressure ventures up north of your body. And your cunt clamps down on his fingers as his adventurous hand grabs the fat of your breasts and gropes your flesh. You moan, weakly, with no energy left in you as he tweaks at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You’re pathetic, you think.

It was this easy for him to reduce you to this.

But you can’t help it. Your body is spent and you can feel another orgasm climbing through your nervous system. And yet, despite being wrecked, your body still finds the energy to clench and groan as you feel pleasure surge through you. Your toes curl, again, before they spread and widen and you try and gain some sort of control over what Rensuke is thrusting upon you.

Another scream is torn from you as you fall, no, you’re pushed from what seemed like a higher cliff than the first. Your back arches from the tile and further into Kunigami’s titillating touch.

“Rensuke, I- I…” you aren’t even sure what you want to say when you begin babbling. You manage to rest your weight on your hands again and look down at him. He showers your inner thighs with adoring kisses, they’re sweet and loving and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were falling in love.

He pulls his fingers out of your spasming walls and looks up at you. Your jaw is agape, slightly, as you feel him spit a perfect glob of saliva onto your clit without even looking. He needs to stop. You shake your head as you see the gears turn in his brain and you catch up almost instantly. You try to pull his wrist away but you’re weak.

“C-Can’t, Rensuke… no more!” you tell him, despite trying to sound firm, you just sound pathetic.

He can’t stop.

So he doesn’t.

He rubs the two fingers that were inside you just moments ago repeatedly over your throbbing clit. The smile sprawling across his face is that of a menace. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He thinks he knows your body better than you do.

And, hell, he might.

You say you can’t.

But why are you moaning for him?

“Doin’ so good for me, princess.” he tells you, kissing your inner thigh again as he continues his assault. His eyes droop as he admires how tender and overstimmed your pussy is. You can keep going, though. He’s sure of it. “You moan really pretty when you cum… ‘n I can tell she likes attention.” he speaks, it’s gruff but somehow still soft. He doesn’t look at you right away after he speaks. Instead his eyes remain focused on your tremoring cunt.

“I’m— I c-aaaan’t. Anymore, no more, ‘mmm hmrmf…” you struggle to even make sense in your mind of what you were originally trying to say as the nonsense you actually spouted takes root in your brain. He laughs, shallowly, as you try to reason with him.

You can’t reason with him, though.

Not when he knows better and your cunt is betraying your weak will.

“Goin’ dumb for me ‘cause you feel too good, huh?” he chuckles, tilting his head as he tries to command your focus on him. The way every inch of your skin trembles with pleasure makes his cock leak like he could never imagine. He’s glad he’s in the water so you can’t see what a pathetic mess your pretty noises alone have him reduced to. Though he makes a mental note to get the pool cleaned tomorrow. “Don’t need to think when you’re cumming. Jus’ cum for me. Can tell she wants to… just let go, princess.”

“Haah, hn- hnnnnng—!” you finish with a cry, you can’t believe he’s managed to make you cum three times in such quick succession.

Even as an adult, Rensuke Kunigami has found a way to reduce you into a sobbing puddle.

He frees you, eventually, allowing your body to catch up to what has just happened. He finally lets you close your legs and allow your twitching quim to recover, alleviating the pressure between them.

He hoists himself out of the water, though. And he climbs effortlessly above you. And, really, you know he’s always been a big guy. It’s arguably his most defining trait. But fuck, like this, while you’re shivering and spent, he’s fucking massive.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. The soft, caring voice contrasts completely with his all-consuming presence. He lowers his head to kiss between the valley of your breasts and down to your navel. But he stops short and looks at you again. “We can, if you want. But… I’m having fun with you.”

You should answer. He’s asking for consent, after all. Your lips part and reseal repeatedly as you try and decide on what to say. You’re having fun, too. But can you handle it? Can you handle more of this?

“You’re so… big.” you whisper, and you don’t know where that even came from. You giggle when you see him smile at your silly comment, and he immediately has a retort spring to mind.

“My cock matches, y’know. Why d’you think I made you cum so much?” he tells you. “Well… I like making pretty girls cum anyway, but you’ll thank me. If you wanna keep going, that is.”

“I want to fuck… want you to fuck me, ‘Suke.” you admit. He lifts your back away from the cold, damp tiles and pulls you into his embrace. You receive one final, show-stopping kiss from him as he pulls down his swim shorts. You keep your eyes on him, not having the confidence to look down below.

He grabs your chin, his thumb helping tilt your head and guiding you to look at his length. And, embarrassingly, you gasp. He chuckles, kissing your forehead and you look between him and the impressive size he possesses. It’s scary, honestly, looking at how thick and heavy his cock is and what it will feel like inside.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’ve never seen a dick like this and you surely won’t again. He’s big, thick. And long to boot. His tip is prominent but soft. Like you could suck it into your mouth and hear a pretty pop sound once it’s in. You could run your tongue along the ridge and make him hiss from the pleasure.

The thickness is akin to an energy drink can. Eight long inches threaten to invade your apparently well-prepared walls, but still, you aren’t so sure. His veins aren’t prominent, but they’re there. You see them running along his shaft in different directions. And then you do find one. One throbbing, prominent vein as you admire each and every inch of his heavenly member.

You’ve never had an affinity for balls. Seeing them as a nuisance that are just there rather than anything you have any interest in pleasuring. But for him. For those. You could be persuaded. They’re heavy, God they look heavy but every inch of him does. He’s a large, imposing man and his balls are no exception.

It turns you on to no discernible degree to think about how full and aching his balls must be after you’ve teased him all night. How they’ll tighten and release as he floods you with his cum when he’s through with you.

“Need you, Rensuke, n-now.” you tell him, unable to function without feeling him inside of you for a second longer.

A brief panic shoots through your veins as he pulls you back into the water like a siren. But he stops short of pulling you to your death.

At least, in the literal sense.

You might experience your fourth little death as soon as he sticks his tip in you.

The water sloshes around you as you’re pushed into the pool wall. Your legs sit comfortably on his hips as he guides his still leaking cockhead into your greedy cunt. You moan in tandem as you become accommodated with each other.

“You’re so cute, s’fucking tight, princess.” he tells you, silencing any response you might have had with an ardent kiss. You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. And it’s calculated, of course, as he pushes further and further into your sticky walls.

It wasn’t enough.

Three wasn’t enough.

The thickness of his length would have you screaming if he wasn’t keeping a firm grasp on the crown of your head so you couldn’t pull away to voice how the stinging stretch was affecting you.

He doesn’t let go until he’s in. Fully in. You feel him kiss your cheeks and now you can finally moan, pant, screech if you so choose. But as your breathing comes out in hiccupped sobs, you realise he isn’t kissing your cheeks.

He’s kissing away your tears.

“Took me so well, gorgeous.” he mutters against your skin, still continuing to softly peck his lips against your damp skin. “You’re so good… such a good girl, princess. I’m so proud of you, bein’ so good f’me tonight.”

It makes you cry more, though you aren’t sure why. You can barely think about what he was like back then. When he was cruel and callous for no viable reason. But you’d never have heard such sweet sounds from him like you’re hearing now. You’re a good girl, and it’s for him.

Your tongues tangle into a clumsy fervour as he starts to move his hips. The sound water lapping at your bodies is deafening. He lifts you up, slightly, so that he can pound himself into you without restriction.

Both of you find it hard to keep kissing romantically and consistently the harder and faster he batters his cock against your insides. Your lips touch but your mouths hang open. And he’s looking at you. Really fucking looking at you as he drinks in every facial contortion you make from the feeling of his cock bullying itself against your self-destruct button.

He loves the way you bite your lip when you’re close. How your eyes cross and you look so damn wet and pathetic as he brings you to ruin again. It’s a sight he’d have tattooed on the back of his eyelids if he could. He’s been around the world and still couldn’t name a more beautiful sight.

Maybe you could be a porn star, he thinks. If both of your careers fall through, he knows what a good fallback will be if you were so inclined. You’re perfect. Every inch of you, top to bottom, is perfect.

You can barely hold onto consciousness as you feel his heavy breeder balls slap relentlessly against your ass. But you hang on, you have to when he grabs the lower half of your face and pinches your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“Is my good girl about to cum?” he asks, and you nod, dumbly. “That’s it… stay with me. Wanna watch your pretty face while you cum again.” he orders.

You breath faster, fighting against the crushing urge to close your eyes and let go of your body completely. But you’ll do anything he asks, in this moment, so long as he keeps calling you a good girl.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks, thrusts increasing in pace as he jackhammers into you. He’s close, too, but he wants you to cum first. It’ll tip him over the edge if you cream him like this. It’s all he wants. It’s all he needs. “Or should I p-pull out?” he struggles, the thought of spraying your body with his seed appeals to him just as much.

“D-Don’t pull out, Rensuke, don’t you dare…” you command. “Hnf, ah, I’m! Haaah, aah, f-fuck—!” you finish.

“Shit, shit.” he follows you right after. It seems that he would have came inside whether you wanted him to or not. “Ohhhh, fuck, baby. Fuckin’ perfect pussy… take it.” he finishes, too, his pace only slowing by a fraction as his cock spurts rope after rope of pearlescent cum into your cunt.

The sound of water calms after some time. The waves lap around you, carefully, as you breathe and sweat after such a vigorous workout.

It surprises you, a little, as he kisses you after the fact. You thought he’d turn a little colder after he got what he wanted. But you underestimate him again, clearly, as he kisses you sweetly.

“That… amazing.” you tell him, not possessing the energy to fill the rest of the sentence. The start and end are enough for him to figure it out, though. And he cradles your body in his arms as he walks you both to the shallower end of the pool with the staircase. “’m so tired.”

“I know, baby.” he hushes you, you feel like a child in his hold. You’re so little in comparison and you’re still surprised he didn’t break you. He manages to effortlessly pick up his jersey and walk you towards the pool room door. “Gonna get you cleaned up, ‘n we can go straight to sleep.” he promises.

You can’t remember the last time you got such a good nights sleep. Really, you barely remember even falling asleep. You remember Rensuke washing your body and your hair in a warm bubble bath. But you don’t remember him putting you to bed.

Waking up in his arms was a nice feeling, though.

So nice you felt compelled to wake him up with a reward.

He stirred in his sleep as you began to kiss down his bare chest and further down his body. He’s a light sleeper, you came to realise, as he woke up with a cheeky smile on his face and asked what you were doing.

You took his cock between your lips and showed him just how thankful you were for his attentive treatment and aftercare from last night. And you may have wanted to give him a reason to remember you if he wanted to consider going on another date.

He got close.

Really close.

Until he pulled you away to sit on his cock.

“’m not wasting my cum in your mouth when I can cream this cunt again.” he smirks, helping you straddle his hips before lowering yourself down onto that perfect fucking dick again. And he watches you ride him, his jersey riding up slightly with each rise and fall of your hips.

“L-Love your cock, Rensuke, s’fucking big.” you moan like a slut with no remorse. You can’t act coy anymore. Not after last night.

“S’all yours, baby.” he tells you. His attention is stolen from observing your enjoyment when he hears a buzzing on the side table. He reaches for it, and you don’t even notice while your eyes are screwed shut.

And he realises it isn’t his phone.

It’s yours.

He moves slightly, so that he’s sitting upright, covering your mouth as he answers the call. Your blood runs cold as you feel the cold glass of your iPhone screen pressed against your cheek and your ear. Your eyes widened in horror as you look down at Rensuke for help.

“Hello?!” Maisie.

He uncovers your mouth, allowing you to speak. “H-Hey, Maisie.”

“I texted you so many times, where have you been? Did you get home alright? I was so worried!” she yells at you. You can tell she’s in her office pacing back and forth on the tiles as her heels click with each step. She’s pacing. She’s furious.

“S-Sorry! I was just, it was a weird night!” you try and answer simply without lying or giving too much away. But your heart quick starts again as Rensuke holds onto your hips. You're mouthing and no no no! Butit’s ignored as he nods sadistically. He holds tightly onto your hips until your flesh spills between his fingers. And he fucks. You whimper pathetically as you seal your lips in a bid to keep quiet. He really is a sadist, he looks like he’s going to cum to the sight of you desperately trying to maintain your composure.

“I cannot believe I set you up with your old bully, that is so my luck.” she laughs. “Did you just get a taxi home?”

“A-Ah! Uh, yeah I know, c-crazy.” you struggle. “S-Sort of. Eliza was in the area so she picked me up.” so much for not lying.

“Oh, really? That’s good.” she replies, though the click clacking of her heels comes to a stop. “Weird, though, considering I rang all of the girls to see if any of them had talked to you. None of them did.”

“T-That’s… weird.” you reply, eyes rolling back as you try and maintain a level head and think of a way to get off the call. “Um, I uh—”

“I’m at work, just looking through some of my client's details. I’ve got Rensuke’s address up on my screen right now.” she starts. Oh fuck. “You know what else is on my screen?”

“W-What?”

“Find my fucking friend you little slut! Oh my God!” she screams, though you can’t tell if she’s actually screaming or if it’s melded into laughter. “Did you fuck your bully? You whore!”

“I— It’s complicated, nngh!” your free hand flies to your mouth as you spasm through another mind-altering orgasm shatters through you. Rensuke keeps a firm hold of your hips as you tighten around his cock. You hold the phone as far away from your face as you possibly can, though it doesn’t matter. Not when Rensuke cums in you again with no regard to his volume.

“Oh… my God.” Maisie speaks, though you barely hear it. You bring the phone back to your ear and sigh. You already know you’re busted, there’s no point in hiding it now. “I thought I heard a mattress squeaking. Have you just fucked?!”

“Hmph… yeah. Sorry.”

“I’ll pick you up later if you need a lift, I want all the details you absolute slut.” she laughs, sitting down in her office chair as she actually starts to do some work. “How was the date though, was it good?” she asks, knowing she’ll have to go soon.

You look at Rensuke’s pink, sweaty face and wide smile. You melt into the way his thumbs stroke into your sides so tenderly. And you smile back at him, a newfound confidence you’ve never felt before.

“It was… fucking amazing.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[leclsrc]

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff 

word count: 13.1k  

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily. 

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back. 

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course. 

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room. 

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind. 

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.” 

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything. 

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip. 

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated. 

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.” 

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.” 

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?” 

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing. 

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So. 

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers. 

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging. 

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused. 

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?” 

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft. 

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them. 

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans. 

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused. 

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway. 

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.” 

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go. 

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him. 

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one. 

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after  you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly. 

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake. 

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it. 

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.” 

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.” 

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him. 

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes. 

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn��t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

[bluetimeombre]

ׂ╰┈➤ She’s like a shot of Espresso

You work in a coffee shop and suddenly Jacob is a coffee enthusiast

This man has been appearing in my dreams, he’s just begging for my attention. Btw I totally don’t work in a coffee shop…

ׂ╰┈➤

Teenpopbuzz: we've found jacbobelordi favourite coffee spot! the actor has been seen visiting there on three separate occasions

304k likes 211k comments

user: hubba hubba

user: so princess diana coded

user: he's so pretty

user: breaking, jacobelordi goes to coffee shop THREE times

user: daddy

user: babe,,, come back, the children miss you

user: what i would do to be a coffee cup and sit between his lips

user: help someone said he's princess diana coded

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacob was not a nervous person. He never got nervous and never felt awkward. But this was a trip to the coffee shop he'd frequented and he'd slowly started to get the shakes before every time. What the hell was wrong with him?

He knew what was wrong with him, his friends knew what was wrong with him. He had a crush. A crush on the pretty barista who served him every time.

The cafe had only been opened an hour but he was there and so were you. He realised you were there most days, with a smile and style.

The bell over the door dinged as he walked in and as you finished serving your customer. It was all quiet inside as he strode to the counter.

'Hi,' you smiled as the other customer walked away.

'How you doing?' he asked politely.

'I'm good, your usual?'

He grinned. 'You know it already.'

'Of course. Any plans today?' he knew you were probably just making conversation, but it still felt nice to talk to you.

'Nothing much, just got this book I want to finish.'

'Oh yea? What you reading?'

'Grapes of Wrath,' he said. He moved along the counter with you, keeping conversation.

'You know if you like Steinbeck you should try East of Eden, it's my favourite book.'

'Really?'

You went into describing the book and he listened intently, smiling at you as you got excited over the book. He came in with his own prompts too.

‘Sorry, im keeping up,’ You apologized, sliding his coffee over.

‘No please, I love to hear it. I’ve got nothing much on.’

‘Finishing a Book, very important business,’ You tell him.

When another customer walked in, it was his cue to leave, slowly and looking back at you like one hundred times.

Jacob opened the door, calling to you one more time, completely ignoring the customer that was there. ‘I’ll see you soon!’

You smile and blush.

ׂ╰┈➤

liked by… yourusername, sydney_sweeney, enews, tchalamet & others

Jacobelordi: I’ve heard East of Eden is a good read

1m likes 782k comments

user: aesthetic king

user: he’s so pretty

user: babygurl

user: 😍😍

user: I will bet so much money that’s from the coffee shop he likes or something

user: he’s so bf!!! I need him

user: he was written by a woman people!!!

user: how is he so gorgeous!!

user: I am free and single to hang out on Thursday Jacob, I’ll be free Thursday for us to date if you are free on Thursday

user: I want you

user: he so cute fr

liked by… yourfriend, yourfriend, yourfriendsfriend and jacobelordi

Yourusername: oh no!!! I’m posting my three favorite things! Coffee, books and books! Hope a cute guy who has an affinity for these things doesn’t slide into my dms

105likes 20comments

yourfriend: she’s cute

yourfriend: ur so cool urg!!!

yourfriend: the caption, ur so iconic 😭😭

user: jacobelordi follows her?!?

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacobelordi started following yourusername

Yourusername started following jacobelordi

ׂ╰┈➤

Yourusername DMS

Jacobelordi: 📚

Jacobelordi: oh no, I accidentally tripped and dropped all my classics full of my annotations with all my interesting ideas and thoughts

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacob had a mission.

Your cafe was busier by the time he got in around lunch. It had been a busy week and beside talking to you through instagram, there hasn’t been much chance of a chance to see you.

So boy was he gonna see you today. And he had a plan.

He walked in and couldn’t immediately see you but saw your co-workers, another guy and another girl at the counter. He lingered around. What if you weren’t working today? But he was sure you were, you were always in on this day.

He caught sight of you, talking to a couple out for lunch and he smiled, tapping the book in his pocket.

After you left them to eat their lunch, you strode over. He noticed the blush on your cheeks, he’s hoped you’d be just as nervous.

‘Hey,’ he smiled as you slid behind the counter.

Your co-workers wondered away, clearly trying to make it look as if they weren’t listening.

‘I actually brought something for you,’ he said, suddenly wanting to hide behind his cap.

‘For me?’

With a grin, he slid over Grapes of Wrath. ‘It’s my copy, annotated and that. I just thought you might like to read it.’

‘Oh my god, thank you!’ You practically caressed the book. ‘It’s so funny cause I actually have something for you-‘ then, you pulled out east of Eden. ‘My copy. Not quite annotated but there’s a line or two underlined.’

‘Oh woah,’ the two of you laugh about it, thumbing though the pages.

Finally, Jacob knew he had to ask. He couldn’t not. ‘Maybe, if you’re free- and if you’re up to it, we could meet up and chat about it- and other things of course.’

You watch, blushing.

‘A date!’ He suddenly announced. ‘I’m asking you out on a date.’

You nod. ‘I would love to go on a date with you, just let me know when, you have my number.’

Confused, his brows furrowed until you helped him. You flicked open the cover and on the first page of the book, your number was scribbled.

And he knew, he was in bad.

ׂ╰┈➤

Teenpopbuzz: new couple alert?! Jacobelordi has been spotted out and about with a mystery girl a few times now, could this be his new lucky woman?!

856k likes 445k comments

user: that should be me!!! Holding your hand!!

user: omg they’re so cute!!

user: isn’t this yourusername, who works in the cafe?

user: he’s literally just taking pictures of her, it’s so cute!!!

user: she better sleep with one eye open

user: I’m in love with them

user: he looks happy eeeekk

user: yourusername

user: ok I’ve stalked yourusername, she works in the cafe he’s been seen at

user: they’re so cute

user: I like the dog

liked by… yourusername, florencepugh, emmachamberlian & tchalamet

Jacobelordi: six months of free coffee! Thank you my love x

tagged: yourusername

1.1m likes 802k comments

user: AHHHHHHHH

user: he made it official!!!!

user: my parents!

user: she’s actually so pretty wtf

user: I can’t tell who i want to be more

user: the fact they met through the cafe she works at, talk about meet cute

user: telling my kids this is Romeo and Juliet

user: omg the free coffee comment, hahahah

user: do you think she’s seen saltburn?

yourusername: <3

[moonlightspencie]

Meet-Cute

Description: It's all in the title, isn't it?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 1k

On a Saturday morning after a night of drinking, the last thing you personally cared for was to be awoken by the loudest noise on earth. Some terrible creaking sound, mixed with thuds that seemed to resound in your apartment every thirty seconds had you practically developing a stress-induced twitch as you laid in bed.

To put it nicely: you were at the end of your rope.

You begrudgingly got out of bed, roughly washed your face, angrily brushed your teeth, and stomped to your door. You may not usually be prone to dramatics, but you felt it necessary for your well-being this time. You opened your door, about to confront your terribly noisy neighbor, when you realized that it was someone moving in.

You wanted to be angry. You really did. But…

“Hello,” said a man who you could only describe as genuinely tall, dark, and handsome. He also looked a little surprised.

You wiped the scowl off your face. “Hi.”

He looked around, as if the answer for you standing in your doorway in pajamas, looking quite annoyed, would appear out of thin air. It didn’t. You realized as much about thirty seconds later as you finally started speaking.

“Sorry. Are you moving in?”

"Oh! Yeah," he breathed out a small laugh. God he was handsome. "I apologize for the noise.”

You shake your head. “No! No, that’s okay. Just… curious.”

He smiled a little and you tried not to melt on the spot. He reached his hand out in greeting.

“I’m Aaron.”

You shook his hand, trying not to stare at him as you gave him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” you said softly.

“You, too. Uh… I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, nodding at the box under his arm.

“Of course!” you nod quickly. “Right. Um… I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

You went back to your apartment, shutting the door behind you with a little grin. So much for staying determined to be grumpy and less than pleasant today.

It was, unfortunately, two weeks later before you saw him again. This time as you were checking your mailbox in the lobby. As you heard someone clear their throat, you muttered a small apology, stepping out of the way as you looked through the letters in your hand.

“Um… hi,” he offered as a greeting that made you jump a little bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Just wanted to say hello."

You looked up at the voice that was irritatingly smooth, finding yourself getting a bit warm in the cheeks when you noticed him giving you almost a shy smile. You turned towards him more to give him your full attention.

"Oh, gosh. Uh, sorry," you chuckled softly, returning his smile. "Guess I'm not very good at being neighborly, am I?"

"You're doing just fine. I'm sure it might be a little... maybe off-putting to have a strange man approach you in the lobby, now that I think of it."

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all. I’m just… not used to people approaching me here at all.”

“Not exactly social?”

“More like nobody else here is. I don’t mind a little company,” you replied, a little more flirty than you were intending. 

Clearly he didn’t mind.

“Good to know,” he nodded once with a growing smirk.

“Uh…” you clammed up a tiny bit. “So… Um, are you, like, new around here?”

“Only to this building. I’ve been in D.C. for too many years to count,” his smirk melted into a softer smile. “Just needed someplace new, I guess. My old apartment… I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’ve been there,” you nodded softly. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s great. My son loves it here.”

Your brows raised a little. “You have a son?”

“I’m shocked you didn’t file a complaint last night with the tantrum he threw,” he chuckled a tiny bit. 

“I was out last night, so no worries here.”

“Oh? With friends, or…?”

You couldn’t help but smile a little more. “Yeah. Just a couple of girlfriends.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Maybe too much fun.”

“You get up to a lot with them?” he asked casually, though not without humor, crossing his arms over his chest.

You smiled. “Only on occasion. I don’t think I could really handle the way they go out practically every single night. I only agree to go out like that with them once a month.”

“Now you’re sounding a little too much like me for someone so young and pretty.”

You find your cheeks warm at that, though you try not to react outwardly. You could tell that he knew just how much he had affected you, though. If you didn’t know any better, you might guess he was a mindreader. 

“I think you make yourself out to be too boring for someone so friendly and handsome.”

He laughed a little at that. Then a comfortable silence falls over the both of you for a moment. Maybe two moments. Eventually, you shift your weight, and look back up at him again. He really is horribly handsome. A guy shouldn’t be able to look like that, and… God, he smelled good, too. You shuffled the mail in your hands a little bit before speaking again.

“Uh… Well, it was nice chatting with you, but unfortunately I do have to go clean my apartment. Family is coming over tomorrow,” you said softly. “I’ll see you around, though, yeah?”

“Yes, that sounds… sounds good. Maybe if you end up wanting some of that company you were talking about, we could get dinner some time?”

You couldn’t help a giddy smile sneaking onto your face. You nodded easily, glancing at his hand as he shut your mailbox for you near your head. 

“I could come knock on your door some time soon and invite you properly, if you’d be alright with that,” he said, that little smirk sneaking back onto his face.

“I’d like that.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Technicalities

Summary: Based on this request! After a complicated friends-with-benefits relationship with Spencer, you confess your true feelings to him in a moment of vulnerability, only for things to fall apart. Both of you struggle with your feelings, leading to silence and regret. When Spencer realizes he can't let you go, he tries to fix things, but is it too late?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x IT fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, fwb, alcohol consumption, being drunk, hangover mention, (un)requited feelings, kind of fake dating/keeping up appearances, both Spencer and reader are dumb, happy ending i promise !!, i imagined somewhere season 4–8 Spencer

Word count: 29.2k

a/n: i'm so glad someone put in this request because i mostly had this story figured out but they saveddd my ass with this prompt so thank you !!! and yes i have only been focusing on this one lmao getting back to my other stories now my

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (f) receiving, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), breast play

The BAU bullpen was humming with the usual mid-week activity. Spencer Reid sat at his desk, frustration evident as he jabbed the keyboard of his computer, which remained frozen. A flash of error codes danced across the screen, none of which made sense to him—a rare occurrence, and one that only served to heighten his irritation. He let out a sigh, raking a hand through his hair as the team around him exchanged knowing glances. 

"Reid, you okay there?" Rossi’s voice came from a nearby desk, teasing and lighthearted as he looked up from his case files. 

"No," Spencer huffed, shaking his head. "My computer’s completely unresponsive, and I have a report due in—" he checked his watch for the sixth time in as many minutes "—an hour."

"Kevin's supposed to be here soon," JJ assured him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "He’ll fix it, don't worry."

Just as she spoke, the doors to the bullpen swung open, revealing someone none of them had seen before. You walked in, holding a laptop under one arm, the ID badge around your neck swinging slightly as you headed toward them with confident strides. A few of the team members exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and amusement flickering in their eyes. 

Hotch cleared his throat, greeting you with a nod. "You're here for the computer issue?"

"Yeah, I’m the IT support on call while Penelope Garcia is away," you confirmed, offering a polite smile. "I heard there was a problem with Dr. Reid’s computer?" You looked around, trying to spot the agent who was in need of your help. 

Reid, already on edge, looked up with surprise, blinking as if he hadn't quite processed that it wasn't Kevin Lynch who was standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly unsure how to respond to this unexpected change.

"I, um… expected Kevin," he finally mumbled, his voice betraying his slight unease. "I’ve never seen you before."

"Yeah, I took over his position," you explained, not missing a beat. "Penelope has mentioned you a few times, Dr. Reid." You held back a grin as you said this; she had described the team members in amusingly vivid detail. "She told me you like to keep your computer files meticulously organized."

Reid flushed slightly at the mention of his organization habits, and Derek, leaning back in his chair, raised a brow. “You know, this should be good,” he murmured under his breath, loud enough for the others to hear. Emily, who had taken a break from her own work to watch the scene unfold, leaned against her desk with a sly grin, clearly enjoying every second of it.

Spencer, however, was less amused. “It just stopped working,” he said, gesturing to the screen with a frustrated wave of his hand. “The whole thing’s frozen, and I can’t even get the task manager to open.”

"Sounds like it could be an issue with the registry or a corrupted file," you said, more to yourself than to anyone else, as you moved closer to his desk. "Mind if I take a look?"

Reid hesitated but eventually moved his chair to the side, allowing you access to his computer. As you set your laptop down and began connecting it to his system, the team observed with bated breath. Derek shot JJ a look, one that said he was clearly enjoying watching Spencer’s mild discomfort. 

Within seconds, you were typing furiously, navigating through various system files and directories, your eyes narrowing as you focused. Spencer’s eyes darted between the screen and your hands, trying to follow what you were doing, though he couldn’t quite keep up with your speed. You were faster than Kevin, more direct, and there was no room for small talk—just pure efficiency.

"There," you finally announced, pressing the enter key with a flourish. The screen blinked, flickered, and then—miraculously—sprang back to life, all files intact, and no trace of the error messages that had plagued it before.

Spencer blinked, stunned at how quickly you’d fixed it. He had been prepared for a long, awkward stretch of waiting, and yet you’d solved the problem almost effortlessly. He turned to you, feeling a touch of embarrassment creep up the back of his neck at his earlier impatience. “Wow… that was fast,” he admitted, his voice softer now, clearly humbled by your swift expertise.

“Glad I could help,” you said, your smile warm but professional as you started gathering your things. "It was just a couple of corrupted processes in the background. Shouldn't be an issue anymore, but if it acts up again, let me know."

Hotch nodded approvingly as you packed up, and Rossi gave a little chuckle. “Well, Reid, it looks like you're in good hands.”

Spencer, feeling that flush of gratitude and a bit of self-consciousness, turned back to you. "Thank you, really. I mean—I didn't mean to come off as... Well, thanks."

You nodded, the sincerity of his words clear despite his awkwardness. “No problem, Dr. Reid. I’m always around if you need anything fixed.” You threw a quick wave to the rest of the team before heading out, leaving Spencer sitting there, staring at his now fully functional computer, wondering how you’d made it all look so easy.

Once you were gone, Derek let out a low whistle. “Well, that was something.”

JJ smirked, turning to Spencer. “I’d say she handled you pretty well.”

Spencer huffed, his eyes narrowing playfully as he resumed his work, “I don’t need to be handled.”

—

Over the next few days, it seemed like Spencer was having an unprecedented run of technical issues. And they all, without fail, required your assistance.

It started innocently enough—a “network connectivity problem” that turned out to be nothing more than a loose cable. You had come by quickly, knelt beside his desk to adjust the cord, and, while fixing it, noticed the way his eyes followed your every move. His face had remained composed, but the flush to his cheeks when you stood up and announced the issue had been hard to miss. The team had shared knowing glances behind his back, each one barely concealing their smirks.

Then, just two hours later, his computer's fan started "making an odd noise." Of course, Spencer had once again denied that it could be a false alarm, claiming there was something seriously wrong with it. And you, being the professional you were, had obliged, leaning down to listen to the fan’s soft whirring as your fingers brushed against the side of the machine. He tried to maintain his cool—really, he did—but it was becoming more and more obvious that the fan was just fine. When you turned around, you caught the way his gaze shifted slightly down before flicking back to your face, trying to play it off as if he’d been looking at his notes.

"Spencer," you teased lightly, as you finished the quick check and stood up, "I’m starting to think you're trying to set a record for the number of help tickets submitted in a single week."

His reaction was immediate. "What? No, no, I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly flustered but in a way that made your own stomach do a small flip. "I mean, I... really have been having a lot of issues lately." He tried to sound convincing, but his voice wavered just enough for you to know he didn’t even believe himself.

"Of course you have," you said with a playful smile, your voice just low enough that only he could hear the amusement in your tone. "Well, if anything else comes up... you know where to find me."

It didn’t stop there. Later that same day, when the team was preparing for a briefing, Spencer announced that the projector wasn't working. The rest of the team, sitting around the table, didn't even try to hide their grins this time. Hotch covered his mouth with his hand, pretending to cough. Derek leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and winked at Emily, who was openly chuckling now.

"Projector issues, huh?" you said as you walked in, the teasing lilt in your voice fully on display this time. You gave the machine a once-over, noticing that it was turned off—not broken. You pressed the power button, and, sure enough, the screen flickered to life immediately, the bright display shining against the conference room wall. "Looks like it just... needed to be turned on."

"Rookie mistake," Spencer said quickly, trying to sound like it was a simple oversight. But the way he shifted in his seat, his lips pressing into a thin line, made it clear he knew how obvious his ploy had become. "I... appreciate you coming all the way up here for that."

"Oh, anytime," you replied, flashing him a smile that he swore could melt glass. You took a moment to adjust a cord, bending slightly as you did, and while Spencer’s eyes followed your movement, you couldn’t miss the way his gaze trailed down, lingering for a split second before he caught himself. He quickly straightened in his chair, clearing his throat as he looked back to his teammates, who were all trying their best to act like they weren’t paying attention. 

Once you were done with the projector, you turned back around and leaned against the table, arms folded across your chest, watching him with an amused twinkle in your eyes. You'd expected him to be bumbling and shy—most people warned you of Dr. Reid's reserved nature. But as you looked at him now, there was a new spark in his eyes, a confidence you didn't expect. It was as if he'd picked up on the fact that you didn’t mind his attention. In fact, you welcomed it.

The projector working perfectly now, he got up from his chair, and instead of sitting back down, he stepped closer to where you stood. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear, “I think I’ve run into more technical issues this week than I have all year.”

“Oh really?” you raised an eyebrow, enjoying this new, more self-assured side of him. “Well, if it happens again... you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, his voice just a touch deeper than usual, and his gaze fixed directly on yours. And the way he looked at you, intense yet amused, sent a shiver down your spine. There was nothing shy or bumbling about it—he knew what he was doing.

Just as you felt the tension build between the two of you, Derek’s voice cut through the air, loud and teasing. “Reid, man, I don’t know what’s going on with your computer, but I have a feeling you might need to get a whole new system. You know, one that doesn’t break every day.”

The rest of the team laughed, and you bit your lip, trying not to laugh too openly yourself as you gathered your things and prepared to leave. Spencer, on the other hand, only rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into a small, confident smile as he looked back at you.

“See you around, Dr. Reid,” you said, your voice carrying just enough playfulness to make sure the message was clear.

“Counting on it,” he replied smoothly, that glimmer of confidence shining in his eyes as you turned to leave, feeling his gaze on you the whole way out of the room. And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, his computer would stop working again very soon.

—

When Penelope returned from her vacation the following week, it felt like the bullpen lit up with vibrant color. Her laughter and colorful essense filled the space in a way that only she could manage. It was clear that the whole team was happy to have her back—JJ had hugged her so tightly Penelope squealed, Hotch had given her one of his rare, genuine smiles, even Rossi, always a gentleman, had brought her a coffee from her favorite café.

And Spencer, who adored his friend, had a huge smile on his face as she bounced over to his desk to give him a bear hug. However, as he sat back down, his smile faltered ever so slightly. Because, with Penelope back, it meant that all the “technical difficulties” he’d been experiencing for the past week would no longer require your assistance. And, truth be told, he was going to miss those visits—the way you’d walk in with that teasing smile of yours, lean over his desk to fix whatever nonexistent problem he’d concocted, and exchange playful banter that left him feeling... well, giddy.

“Pretty boy,” Derek’s voice called out from across the bullpen, dripping with humor and teasing, “what are you gonna do now? You know Miss Penny’s not going to come running every time you snap your fingers.”

Spencer’s eyes shot daggers at Derek, but that only made Morgan’s grin grow wider, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. Spencer tried to school his expression into one of mild indifference, but the tips of his ears were already turning red. It was like a beacon—he might as well have hung up a sign that read “Caught.”

“Yeah, Reid,” Emily chimed in, her laughter ringing through the bullpen as she joined in on the teasing. “Is your computer going to start magically working again? Or should we expect another week of ‘emergency’ projector repairs and ‘technical malfunctions’?” 

JJ chuckled, shaking her head as she flipped through case files. “Seriously, Spence, I think your computer had more issues last week than it has since I’ve known you. It's kind of impressive, really.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped just a little as he leaned over his desk, trying to focus on the file in front of him, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his feigned annoyance. “It’s not like I... meant for anything to happen,” he mumbled, a poor attempt at innocence that only made everyone laugh harder.

“Oh, sure, sure, Dr. Reid,” Derek said, his tone dripping with exaggerated belief. “I’m sure it was all just a big ol’ coincidence that your computer broke down every time she walked by.” He stood up and sauntered over to Spencer’s desk, leaning against the side as he grinned. “Admit it—you liked having her around. And don’t even try to deny it. We all saw you staring.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but he found himself at a loss for words. He couldn’t exactly say that it wasn’t true—because, well, it was. He had liked having you around, more than he cared to admit, even to himself. But he also wasn’t quite ready to face the full brunt of Derek’s teasing, nor the knowing looks that Emily and JJ were exchanging. He settled for glaring at Morgan instead, trying to look as offended as possible, though it only ended up making him look mildly sheepish.

“What can I say?” Penelope chimed in, swirling over to join the conversation, hands on her hips as she gave Spencer a playful wag of her finger. “Apparently, Dr. Reid’s computer has abandonment issues that only manifest when I'm gone. Who knew?”

The team burst into laughter, and Spencer, resigned to the teasing, just shook his head. “Fine, laugh all you want,” he said, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress his grin. “I can handle my own computer problems from now on, okay?”

“Yeah, right,” Emily scoffed. “Sure you can.”

JJ, still chuckling, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, if you do run into any more issues... I’m sure you know exactly who to call.”

Spencer nodded, the grin finally breaking free across his face, because they were right—he did know who to call. He couldn’t help but replay the last week in his mind, all those moments spent with you at his desk, your quick wit, and how easy it was to talk to you. He wasn’t quite ready to let that go just yet.

The thought sparked something bold inside him—something not unlike the confidence he’d felt when you were around. As the team’s laughter finally died down and they went back to their work, Spencer pulled up his email. He went into his contacts and found your name, saved from the last time you’d fixed his “broken” computer. And as he looked at it, that same spark of confidence urged him to do something he normally wouldn’t have done.

With a grin playing on his lips and a slight blush creeping up his neck, he sent you an email.

Hello–

Dr. Reid, here. Just wanted to let you know that my computer's working perfectly now... though I'd still love to see you again. Maybe for a drink this time, instead of a repair?

Hope to hear from you soon.

—Dr. Spencer Reid

And with that, Spencer leaned back in his chair, waiting for your reply with a flutter in his chest, a small smile tugging at his lips, and the whole team none the wiser.

—

Three days felt like an eternity to Spencer. He had replayed every interaction with you in his mind—every word, every smile, every touch as you fixed his "malfunctioning" devices. He was sure—almost sure—that you liked him. But now, as those days stretched on without any word from you, that confidence wavered, then crumbled. 

It started out as just a bit of hopeful waiting—maybe you were busy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the message. Or maybe you were just figuring out the right way to respond. But by Wednesday, the optimism that had carried him through the week turned into something else entirely. Desperation. Every few minutes, he compulsively checked his phone, or his computer, swiping to refresh his email, pulling up his call logs, checking even his office mailbox just in case he’d missed something. Nothing. Always nothing. 

The team had started to notice, the way his attention darted to his screens every few minutes, the little sighs of disappointment that followed when no message awaited him. 

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek’s voice broke through his distracted thoughts that Wednesday afternoon, his tone still light but tinged with concern. “What’s got you all twitchy? You’ve been staring at that phone like it owes you money.”

Spencer quickly dropped his phone, face burning as if he’d been caught in some embarrassing act. “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just... waiting for a message.”

JJ, passing by, raised an eyebrow as she handed out case files. “Anyone important?” she asked softly, the concern evident in her voice as she leaned over his desk.

Spencer shook his head, shrugging off their questions. “No one important. It’s nothing, really.” But as soon as their attention drifted away from him, he found his eyes creeping back to his screen, a dull ache settling in his chest. Each time he saw no new message, that ache tightened just a little more, wrapping around his ribs like a cold hand squeezing the life out of him.

By Thursday, he had almost entirely given up hope. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at his work, the notes and case files a jumble of words that he couldn’t seem to make sense of. All he could think about was that email he’d sent, the one you hadn’t answered. He was sure he’d crossed some kind of line—maybe you hadn’t been interested in the first place, maybe he’d completely misread the signals. And God, wouldn’t that just be the most classic Spencer Reid thing? Missing the social cues, seeing things that weren’t there, building up a fantasy in his mind that didn’t actually exist.

A quiet voice whispered in his head, one that had lived there since he was a kid—the voice that said he wasn’t good enough, that he would never be good enough. That maybe he was destined to always fall for people who could never fall for him. Another woman who slipped away, another chance he’d fumbled. 

Hotch’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, deep and steady. “Reid, are you alright?” he asked, his gaze steady and concerned.

Spencer looked up, startled to find the whole team watching him, worry etched across their faces. He quickly nodded, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah. I’m fine, just... tired.”

“Right,” Emily said, her voice skeptical as she exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them clearly sharing a silent conversation. But they let it go, turning back to their work, and leaving Spencer to his thoughts once more.

He slumped back in his chair, eyes fixed on the empty email screen before him. And that was when he let it sink in—that gnawing feeling of defeat, that familiar loneliness that had shadowed so much of his life. He closed his eyes, willing himself to forget you, to pretend like he didn’t care. But as much as he tried to shove those feelings down, the truth was undeniable: he had liked you. Really liked you. And now, it was just another reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Typical, he thought bitterly, fingers tapping against the desk as he stared blankly at the computer screen. I’m not good enough.

And so, as Thursday drew to a close, he resolved to let it go, to accept that whatever fleeting hope he’d had for something more was just that—a fleeting hope, nothing real. 

If only he knew how wrong he was. 

By the time Friday rolled around, the BAU team had had just about enough of Spencer's sullen mood. For days, he’d been dragging his feet around the office, sighing dramatically, and staring into space as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. He was distracted, more than usual, and his sharp wit had dulled under the cloud of whatever was plaguing him. 

Finally, Derek had had enough. “Reid, man, you need to loosen up,” he declared that afternoon, tossing a ballpoint pen at Spencer, who caught it with a look of mild annoyance. “We’re going to O’Keefe’s tonight. You’re coming with us, and that’s not a suggestion.”

Spencer glanced around the room, seeing the supportive yet firm looks from the others—Emily, JJ, Rossi, and even Hotch, who gave a slight nod of approval. There was no way he was going to get out of it, and frankly, part of him didn’t want to. He had been hoping to spend his weekend taking you out for drinks, but since that clearly wasn’t happening, drinks with his team seemed like the next best thing.

“Alright, fine,” he said, agreeing quickly, much to the surprise of everyone around him. A chorus of cheers and supportive pats on the shoulder met his response, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of something other than that disappointment that had been lodged in his chest all week.

So that evening, they made their way to O’Keefe’s, a no-frills cop bar that had become something of a second home for the team. They settled into a large booth by one of the pool tables, ordering rounds of beers, mixed drinks, and, for Spencer, a hard Arnold Palmer. He sat across from JJ, who nursed her own drink and was trying to keep the conversation light and fun, though she couldn’t quite pull Spencer out of his funk.

“Come on, Spence,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and smiling warmly at him. “It’s Friday and Penelope’s back. Lighten up. You’ll be kicking everyone’s butt at pool soon enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer said, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine, JJ, really. Just... tired.” He played with the straw in his drink, his gaze drifting to the pool table where Derek and Emily were embroiled in a heated game, Rossi leaning against the wall and calling out tips that neither of them listened to.

JJ was about to press him further when her eyes went wide, and a grin spread across her face. She leaned forward suddenly, her expression brightening with mischief as she looked just over Spencer’s shoulder. “What?” he asked, furrowing his brows at her sudden change in demeanor, confused by the excitement lighting up her eyes.

JJ just nodded toward the bar, barely able to contain her grin. “Your girl’s here,” she said, in a sing-song voice that only JJ could pull off without sounding ridiculous.

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped, a wave of hope and disbelief washing over him. He turned around quickly, eyes scanning the crowd of off-duty officers, detectives, and FBI agents mingling around the room. And then he saw you. Standing by the bar, chatting casually with the bartender as you waited for your drink, you looked effortlessly stunning, the dim lights of the bar casting a soft glow on your features.

He whipped back around to face JJ, panic and excitement mingling in his expression. “What—what do I do?” He sounded more flustered than he’d meant to, and JJ couldn’t help but laugh at his wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Well, you could start by getting up and talking to her, genius,” she said with a teasing nudge. “I think that’s a pretty good place to start.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped up from the booth, nearly knocking over his drink in his haste, and made his way over to the bar, trying to gather his composure with each step. His heart pounded in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind—was this just a coincidence? Had you come here to see him? What if you were here with someone else? He shook his head, trying to push the nervous thoughts away as he closed the gap between you.

You looked up just as he approached, a soft smile spreading across your lips as your eyes met his. “Dr. Reid,” you said in greeting, the warmth in your voice making his nerves settle—just a little.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little breathless as he stood beside you. He struggled for words, trying to find the right thing to say, the right way to act after days of silence. “I, uh... didn’t expect to see you here.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance as you stood before him, and he couldn’t help but let his profiler instincts kick in, analyzing every detail of your outfit. You looked effortlessly polished, your blazer open just enough to be casual yet elegant, paired with a skirt that hit the perfect balance of professional and playful. He couldn’t shake the thought—had you dressed up for someone? The idea made his stomach twist with nerves.

The silence stretched between you, and you shifted slightly on your feet, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. You nodded awkwardly, your voice trailing off, “Yeah…”

Spencer looked at you, trying to make sense of everything. His palms started to sweat, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Are you... meeting someone here?”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you let out an awkward laugh, your hands playing with the strap of your bag as you shrugged. “You? Hopefully?” You gave a half-smile, one that was both hopeful and embarrassed. “I mean, I never heard back from you, so I was kind of... taking a chance here.”

Spencer's brows furrowed, and he felt his head start to spin. What did you mean you never heard back from him? He felt like the ground was moving beneath him as he tried to piece together what could have happened. “What?” he asked, his voice quiet, uncertainty and panic creeping in.

You let out another nervous laugh, clearly unsure of what to make of his reaction. “It’s okay if you changed your mind,” you said quickly, looking down at your drink as if it held all the answers you needed. “Let’s not make this any more awkward, please. I just... didn’t want to let it be this weird thing hanging over us, y’know?”

The words hit him like a freight train. Changed his mind? No—no, that wasn’t right. He never changed his mind. In fact, he had been waiting on pins and needles for a response from you, thinking that you were the one who had changed your mind. But something clearly had gone wrong, and Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to figure out how to salvage the moment, how to explain himself to you without making things worse.

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t change my mind. I... I sent you a message, I swear. I thought you were the one who... didn’t respond.” He could hear how frantic he sounded, and he hated it, hated that he was coming across as desperate, but it was the truth. “I’ve been checking my phone for days, I swear—”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your expression filled with curiosity and sympathy. Spencer’s clear panic, the earnest way he was nearly tripping over his own words, had you leaning towards trusting his side of things. He didn’t seem like the type to play games, and that flicker of hope in his eyes as he watched you seemed genuine—almost too genuine. 

“Can I see your phone, Dr. Reid?” you asked, holding out your hand. Your tone was light but held a hint of authority, like you were about to solve one of his computer problems again, only this time, with a very different sort of error. 

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he immediately fumbled in his pocket, fishing out the device with shaky hands. “Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, handing it over to you without hesitation. He was clearly desperate for an explanation, any explanation that didn’t involve you losing interest in him. 

You took his phone and your fingers flew across the screen, pulling up his email app, your expression turning more focused as you scanned through the settings. He watched you, nervous but fascinated at how deftly you navigated through his phone, a slight furrow forming on his brow as you did... whatever it was you were doing. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he hoped for a miracle. 

Then, all of a sudden, you let out a small, involuntary snort—a sound so genuine and cute that it caught Spencer off guard. His heart did a flip in his chest at how unguarded and... normal it was. It wasn't a laugh of mockery, but a laugh of oh, of course.

“What?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, but unable to hide the edge of panic creeping back in. “What did you find?”

You flipped the phone around to show him the screen, and there, clear as day, was the culprit. “You have your email set to send unknown contacts to spam,” you explained with a bemused smile. Your finger pointed to the tiny, barely noticeable setting, and there, nestled in his spam folder, was your email—unread, unopened, and very much the response he had been waiting for.

Spencer stared at the screen, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment crash over him like a tidal wave. “Oh my God,” he breathed, looking from his phone to you and back again, his face flushing a deep shade of red. “I... I didn’t— I had no idea that setting was on.” He let out a slightly shaky laugh, and then another, the tension melting from his body as he realized how silly this whole situation had been.

“Yeah, looks like you had a 'filter spam' setting for any emails from unknown contacts,” you said, the teasing tone in your voice unmistakable. “So my email went straight to your spam folder. Not exactly where I wanted it to end up.”

He let out another nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head at himself. “I am... so sorry. I spent the last few days thinking... well, thinking you just didn’t want to respond.”

“Trust me,” you said, smiling as you handed his phone back, “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I was kind of doing the same thing.” You bit your lip, giving him a small, conspiratorial grin. “So... do we get to hit the reset button on that? Maybe... pretend like I never ended up in your spam folder in the first place?”

Spencer nodded eagerly, grateful beyond words for your understanding. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, please. Reset button. I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” you said, lifting your glass in his direction again, that warmth in your eyes making his stomach do another flip. “So... let’s start over.” 

“Yeah,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a smile that finally reached his eyes. “Let’s start over.” And as he raised his own drink to yours, Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relieved—so genuinely happy—as he did right then.

You grabbed a drink and settled in beside Spencer, sliding into the booth with an ease that immediately lightened the mood. The team noticed the shift instantly. Derek raised his eyebrows, nudging Emily with a smirk as they all watched you laugh, Spencer's posture now more relaxed than they'd seen all week. 

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, giving a wave to the rest of the team as they took you in. “Hope you don’t mind if I crash the party.”

“Mind?” Emily grinned, tossing her pool cue over her shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up all week.”

“Yeah, and give us a chance to figure out what’s got pretty boy here all tied up in knots,” Derek added with a teasing wink. Spencer flushed but didn’t look away from you, a rare boldness shining through as you held his gaze.

“Well, glad I could make the diagnosis clear,” you joked back, leaning into the banter as if you’d known them for years. You turned to Spencer, who looked slightly flustered but undeniably happy. “So, Dr. Reid, do you play pool, or is that not your style?”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with that familiar spark of confidence you’d seen before. “I do,” he admitted, leaning in just a touch closer. “But I have to warn you, I'm not exactly an amateur.”

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms in mock challenge. “I might have to see that for myself. Maybe you could give me a few pointers?”

The playful energy between you was palpable, and JJ’s laugh cut through the noise of the bar. “Oh, this is going to be good,” she murmured to Rossi, who was sipping his drink with a satisfied smile, clearly enjoying the way the night was unfolding. 

Derek hopped up from his seat, grabbing another cue and handing it over to you. “Alright, newcomer, you're up. Let’s see if you can hold your own against Spencer 'Einstein' Reid here.”

You grinned, accepting the cue as you approached the pool table. “So, any rules I should know about?” you asked, pretending to be oblivious as you leaned over the table to line up a shot.

Spencer stood beside you, his own cue resting against his side as he cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, his voice taking on a soft, instructive tone, “it's all about angles and force. You have to judge the best way to break the rack and control the white cue ball.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your expression playful. “Think you could... show me?” You took your stance, leaning down to take the first shot, but purposefully not quite getting it right, leaving plenty of room for Spencer to join you. 

Spencer, catching on to your flirtation, stepped behind you. He placed his hands over yours, gently guiding your grip on the cue stick, his voice low in your ear as he explained. “Like this,” he said, positioning your hands. “And you want to keep your body steady, like this.” His chest brushed lightly against your back, and you couldn’t help but smile at the closeness, the tension thickening between you.

You let him guide the shot, and as the cue ball cracked against the rack, the other balls scattered across the table in a perfect spread. You both stood back, admiring the shot, and he met your eyes with a triumphant grin. “Not bad, huh?”

You let out a laugh, turning to face him fully. “I think you’re a pretty good teacher, Dr. Reid,” you said, holding his gaze. “Though I get the feeling you're holding back on me. I might need a few more... lessons.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and there was a flicker of challenge in his eyes that you found irresistibly charming. “Oh, don't worry,” he said, leaning just close enough for your shoulders to brush. “I can think of a few more things to show you.”

The rest of the team watched with amusement as the two of you circled around the pool table, trading flirty remarks and friendly taunts, the ease between you growing more natural with every passing minute. The night was fresh, fun, and filled with laughter, and as you leaned in closer to Spencer, both of you barely hiding your smiles, it was clear that this wasn’t just a simple bar game anymore. 

It was the start of something much more promising.

The night at O’Keefe’s stretched on, the hours slipping by in the warm haze of laughter, clinking glasses, and the quiet spark between you and Spencer. As the drinks flowed, so did the stories—Rossi sharing old tales from his early days in the FBI, Emily chiming in with outrageous anecdotes about undercover missions gone wrong, and Derek doing impressions of just about everyone on the team, much to everyone’s amusement.

Slowly, the night began to wind down, the team peeling off one by one. Hotch checked his watch, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, Jack’s probably still up waiting for me to get home,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth motion. “I should get going.”

“Yeah,” JJ added with a sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stood up from the booth. “Henry’s going to be bouncing off the walls early tomorrow morning. Can’t wait to find out what he’s gotten into this time.” She gave Spencer a warm hug and then shot you a quick, friendly smile. “It was great meeting you officially, by the way. Take care of our boy, okay?”

“I will,” you said, grinning back as she squeezed your arm. You watched as JJ and Hotch made their way to the door, exchanging goodbyes with the team, leaving the booth feeling a little emptier.

“Alright,” Rossi said a few moments later, patting Emily on the back and standing to stretch. “I suppose it’s my turn to play chauffeur. Ready, Emily?”

Emily, who had already been halfway through another drink, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Guess that’s my cue.” She gave you a friendly nod. “Don’t let these two tease you too much,” she said, motioning toward Derek and Penelope. “They can be relentless.”

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a knowing look. “Behave, kid,” he said with a wink, before guiding Emily toward the exit, the two of them laughing as they disappeared into the night.

That left you, Spencer, Derek, and Penelope at the booth. Penelope, however, had clearly been indulging in a few too many drinks and was staring mournfully into her glass, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about... the mom in Bambi,” she hiccuped, her voice cracking with an exaggerated sob. “She didn’t deserve to die, Derek! She... she didn’t even see it coming!”

“Oh, come on, mama,” Derek said with a gentle smile, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you home before you start on The Lion King or we’ll be here all night.”

“Simba...” Penelope wailed as Derek guided her toward the door, waving haphazardly to you and Spencer. “Poor Simba...”

“Alright, that’s our cue,” Derek said as he all but carried Penelope away, glancing back over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “You two lovebirds stay out of trouble now.” He waggled his eyebrows, his voice dropping into a teasing, mock-serious tone. “And remember—use protection. I don’t need to be godfather to any surprise Reid juniors.”

Your face flushed at his words, and you let out an awkward laugh, waving him off. “Jeez!”

Spencer, equally flustered but trying to play it cool, cleared his throat and gave Derek a tight-lipped smile. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

“Night, pretty boy!” Derek called back, dragging Penelope out the door as she continued to mumble something about baby deer and heartbreak.

And then it was just you and Spencer, the bar a little quieter now that most of the team had gone, leaving an intimacy to the moment that hadn’t been there before. He looked at you, the smile on his face softer than it had been all night. “Well,” he said, voice low as he leaned a little closer, “looks like it’s just the two of us now.”

“Yeah,” you replied, meeting his eyes, feeling the warm, heady buzz of the night settling around you. “Just us.” 

Spencer's eyes were locked on yours, and for a moment, it seemed like time stood still around you both. The sounds of the bar, the chatter of remaining patrons, and even the buzz of the city outside faded into a background hum, leaving just you, him, and the heavy sense of something left unsaid. He didn't want another week of doubt, didn't want to leave this up to chance again, and it was that thought—that fear of missing out on whatever this was—that spurred him to do something he never would have considered before tonight.

He took a breath, inching closer to you, and you felt the shift immediately, the way his whole demeanor seemed to change—his usual hesitance giving way to a new, quiet confidence. You watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips, just for a moment, before meeting your gaze again. And then, before you could say anything, before you could second-guess or tease him for the boldness, he leaned in.

The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt the soft tickle of his breath against your ear, making your skin tingle. His voice was low, intimate, and sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I don’t... I don’t want to let you walk out of here and spend another week wondering if you’re thinking about me the way I’m thinking about you.”

You turned your head slightly, your noses almost brushing as you found yourself face-to-face with him, his eyes so close to yours that you could see every fleck of gold and green in their depths. “Spencer...” you whispered, your voice breathy and light, caught somewhere between surprise and excitement. 

“Come home with me?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an urgency you’d never heard from him before. 

You nodded, the word catching in your throat as you stared at him, the world around you dissolving into just Spencer—the wild curls falling into his face, the way his eyes held yours as if there was no one else in the room. You half-expected him to kiss you then and there, the air thick with anticipation, your breath mingling, but instead, he did something that made your heart race even faster. 

He pulled back just slightly, that gentle smile never leaving his face, and grabbed your hand firmly in his. It was a simple gesture, but the way he intertwined his fingers with yours felt electric, like everything you'd both been holding back had suddenly found its outlet. And then, without another word, he tugged you along, weaving his way through the crowd, barely giving you a chance to react before he was guiding you out of the bar, his fingers tightening around yours as he dragged you toward the door.

You followed without hesitation, caught up in his momentum, and the night air hit you like a splash of cool water as you both stumbled outside. Spencer’s eyes darted around, searching for a cab, and his breath came fast—not from exertion, but from the sheer thrill of the moment, the heady realization that you were with him, that this was happening. 

As soon as he spotted an empty cab, his hand shot up, flagging it down. He opened the door for you, his eyes meeting yours once more, a question lingering in them—a last, silent “Are you sure?” But the look on your face was answer enough, filled with excitement, nerves, and that same intoxicating certainty.

He followed you into the backseat, and as soon as the door shut, his knee brushed yours, and he laced his fingers with yours again, not letting go for even a second. The cab driver’s voice was a distant hum as Spencer gave his address, and then the car pulled away, the city lights blurring by as you sat side by side, hands clasped together, hearts pounding in sync.

This was the beginning of something you couldn’t quite name, but you knew one thing for sure—there was no way either of you would let it slip through your fingers.

The cab ride felt like an eternity, yet all too brief at the same time. Spencer's hand never let go of yours, fingers entwined tightly as if holding on for dear life. He was trying so hard to stay composed, but you could see it—the way his knee bounced nervously, how his thumb traced tiny circles over your knuckles, his breath quickening each time your shoulders brushed. You were both suspended in that heady anticipation, caught between knowing and not knowing what would happen next, and it made every second feel electric.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of his apartment, Spencer fumbled with his wallet, tossing cash to the driver with an almost frantic urgency. You followed him out into the night, and the minute your feet hit the pavement, he was pulling you along with him again, guiding you up the steps to his building, his grip still tight on your hand. 

You hardly noticed the details of his apartment building as you rushed up the stairs. Every step felt like a race, a heartbeat, and you were both half-running, half-laughing, breaths coming fast from excitement more than exertion. And then you were at his door, and Spencer’s fingers were shaking just slightly as he worked the keys, the metal clinking in his hands before the lock finally clicked open. 

The door swung open, and the two of you tumbled into his apartment, breathless and caught up in the whirlwind of it all. For a split second, the room seemed still, the tension thick as you stood in his entryway, just inches apart. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, could see the way his chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, and you waited—waited for that final move, for him to close the space between you.

And then he did.

Spencer's hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in, eyes locking on yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. And when his lips finally met yours, soft yet urgent, it was like fireworks—white-hot and bright behind your eyes, the world exploding into a thousand colors and sensations. The kiss was everything and nothing like you’d expected: gentle yet hungry, trembling yet sure, like he’d been holding back for so long and finally, finally let the dam break.

You melted into him, your hands finding the front of his shirt, balling up the fabric in your fists to pull him closer. His other hand slid around your waist, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies, just heat and breath and the taste of him, sweet and real. You could feel him smile against your lips, a quick exhale of a laugh as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either, but didn’t want to stop long enough to find out if it was a dream.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, and he pulled you even closer, backing you up against the door until you were pressed against it, the wood cool against your back while every inch of him pressed into you. One of his hands tangled in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as if anchoring himself to you, and you tilted your head, letting him kiss you deeper, letting the kiss say all the things the two of you hadn’t yet put into words.

You could feel the thrill, the longing, the nervousness all at once, but there was also something so simple, so right in the way you fit together.

Spencer’s mind was spinning, like he was trying to piece together a thousand thoughts and sensations all at once. Finally having you in his arms—feeling the warmth of your body pressed to his, the taste of your lips—was like nothing he��d ever felt before. Sure, it had only been two weeks since he met you, but the intensity was overwhelming. Every touch, every kiss was like kindling, igniting a fire in him that burned hotter and brighter than he knew was possible.

And you? Being held so close by him, feeling his desperation and his need, made your heart race with its own frantic rhythm. It was an honor to be desired like this, especially by someone like Spencer—someone so brilliant, so genuinely good, and so intensely captivated by you. And to think that you’d had a secret crush on him for the last six months, ever since you first started at the FBI. You had admired him from a distance—the genius profiler, the man who seemed to know so much yet still carried himself with a gentle shyness that only made him more endearing. You’d never thought he’d even notice you, let alone look at you like this, like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.

When he finally started to notice you—those glances, the excuses for “technical help” that grew more and more frequent—you felt your world tilt on its axis. The way he looked at you was different from how he looked at anyone else, and when his eyes locked with yours, you could feel yourself leaning into that gravitational pull, your heart skipping in time with his.

“Y/N...” Spencer’s voice came out as a whisper against your lips, trembling and rough, like he was fighting to keep control, fighting to hold himself back just enough to give you the choice. “I want you so bad... please say I can have you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. The need in his eyes, the raw desire that seemed to consume every part of him—it was everything you’d secretly wished for, everything you’d imagined late at night when your mind wandered to the idea of being his.

“You can,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to let him see the truth in your eyes. “You can have me, Spencer. I’m yours.” 

And that was all it took for the dam to break. Spencer’s mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, a deep, desperate need spilling from his lips to yours as he kissed you like he was starved for you. He pressed you harder against the door, and his hands roamed your body—first up your sides, then down to your waist, finally settling on your hips as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on, and he groaned softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you and making your knees go weak. You wanted all of him—his intensity, his passion, and the vulnerable tenderness that only made you crave him more.

“Tell me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and ragged. “Tell me what you want. I want to know... I need to know.” His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the urgency in every movement, every touch, like he was holding on to the very thing he’d dreamed of but never thought he could have.

You looked at him, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. “I want you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with all the longing you’d kept hidden for so long. “I want everything with you. Right now.”

Spencer's grin was wicked and hungry, and the look in his eyes left you feeling like you were the only person in the world. You could see the wheels turning behind them—he was trying to make sense of what you wanted, to understand the boundaries, to feel out how much of himself he could give without overstepping. And when you said you wanted "everything," his mind had latched onto one word, one meaning: sex. That was something tangible, something he knew how to give, even if his experience was limited. 

If that was what you were willing to give, he would take it gladly, wholeheartedly—because how could he not? But deep down, beneath all the desire and adrenaline, Spencer craved so much more than just the physical. He had wanted you in ways he couldn’t articulate—ever since you’d started drifting into his orbit. He wanted late-night conversations, sleepy mornings, whispered confessions. He wanted everything you could give him, but if all you meant by "everything" was this, he would be grateful for that, too.

“I’ll give you everything,” he murmured, and his grin grew as he leaned in to kiss you again, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away just slightly. “But maybe we move to the bedroom first?”

Your breath hitched, and you could feel that flutter of excitement and nerves in your chest—the reality of the moment crashing over you like a wave. His words were laced with promise, but it wasn’t the promise you’d thought you were making. To you, “everything” meant his mornings, his afternoons, his nights. His laugh, his thoughts, his fears. You’d been hoping that what had been building between you would lead to more than just the physical; that it would be the start of something that might change both of your lives.

But he’d taken your words as permission to have you tonight—just tonight—and it stung, deep and sharp, like a thorn pricking at your heart. Maybe you’d been wrong to hope for more, wrong to believe there was something real between you beyond just lust and impulse. But if this was all Spencer wanted, then maybe that was enough for now. Maybe it could be enough to have him like this, to be close to him, even if just for one night.

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing the emotions rising in your throat as you forced a smile, doing your best to mirror his energy, to make it seem like you wanted the same thing he did. “The bedroom sounds good.”

He took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours once again, and you tried to push away the disappointment that sat like a stone in your chest. He led you down the hall, fumbling as you both stumbled through the doorway to his room, all tangled limbs and laughter. Spencer tugged you close as soon as you stepped inside, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him, his mouth finding yours once more in a feverish, open-mouthed kiss. And for a second, just a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe there was more behind his touch—that maybe this wasn’t just about tonight.

“You’re so gorgeous, darling,” Spencer murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers tangled in the fabric of your blazer. His knuckles brushed against your skin, and his eyes were dark, wide, as if taking in every inch of you all at once. He hesitated for a moment, searching your face, and when he found nothing but eagerness in your eyes, he whispered, “Can I take this off?”

You nodded quickly, the movement of your head almost frantic, and Spencer didn’t waste any time. His hands moved to the buttons of your blazer, deft but slightly trembling with anticipation as he worked his way down, one button at a time. And then, as the fabric slipped away, revealing your bare chest, he let out a low, shaky sigh. “Fuck...” he groaned, the word spilling from his lips like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes locked onto you as if he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life.

You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound light and airy as you reveled in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he looked at you like he was worshiping you. But your laughter quickly turned into a sharp gasp as his hands moved to your breasts, gripping them firmly yet tenderly, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. His palms were warm against your skin, and the way he touched you—like he was savoring every second, every inch—made heat pool in your belly.

Spencer didn’t give you much time to adjust before he dove back in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hungrier, rougher than before. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled you closer, molding your body to his as his mouth moved against yours in frantic desperation. Every movement, every brush of his lips, every squeeze of his hands sent sparks shooting down your spine, and you clung to him, matching his intensity with your own as you kissed him back.

He pressed you back toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, and you let him guide you, your back arching under his touch as you felt the cool air of his apartment against your skin, mixing with the heat of his mouth and hands. And the way he touched you, held you, kissed you, left you breathless—his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples, making your back arch dramatically. 

"Spencer!" you whined into the darkness, your voice breathy and desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him closer and drag him deeper into you. The sound of his name fell from your lips like a plea, and he shuddered at the way it sounded, every syllable dripping with want. 

"Mmm, say my name again," he groaned, loving the way it felt rolling off your tongue—how it made him feel like he was all you needed, all you wanted. 

“Make me,” you challenged, your voice dipping into a teasing taunt as you tugged lightly at his hair, daring him, pushing him to meet you on this knife’s edge between play and need.

Spencer’s eyes flashed, the darkness of the room amplifying the heat in his gaze. His mouth quirked into a dark smile, and he dipped down, kissing a burning path from your collarbone to your chest. He paused there, nipping at the sensitive skin, his teeth scraping against you, catching the bud of your nipple in his mouth. He held your gaze as he did it, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat. He sucked lightly, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, your back arching off the bed. But still, you bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds, not willing to give in to him—yet.

"You want to play it like that?" he asked darkly, pulling back to hover over you, his voice a rough whisper that made your stomach flip. The challenge in his eyes, the way they glittered with a mix of hunger and determination, left you breathless, your body buzzing with anticipation.

You nodded, giving him wide, falsely innocent eyes that only spurred him on. "Yeah," you breathed, voice light and taunting, the hint of a smirk on your lips. "What are you gonna do about it, Dr. Reid?"

A growl escaped his throat, low and rough, and his hands moved to your waist, finding the zipper of your skirt. Slowly, methodically, he dragged it down, the sound of the metal teeth parting filling the silence between your racing breaths. He didn’t break eye contact as he did it, his fingers brushing along your hip, pushing the fabric down inch by inch, teasing you, making you wait—making you squirm.

"Let's see how long you can keep up that attitude," he murmured, his voice dark and dripping with promise. "I'm going to make you say my name, over and over, until it's all you can think about." 

And with that, Spencer dropped to his knees, pulling your skirt and underwear off the rest of the way, baring you to him in the darkness of his bedroom. The cool air kissed your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hands moved to your thighs, parting them gently, your heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. 

“I want to see how long before you’re begging,” he whispered, leaning down, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he nipped and kissed his way up. And as you felt the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands holding you open for him, all you could do was tremble under his touch, knowing that any control you thought you had was about to be undone.

“You still biting that tongue, sweetheart?” Spencer’s voice was husky, the tease wrapped around a threat, and it sent shivers down your spine. He hovered right over your wet, aching core, his breath fanning over you, warm and taunting. You were trying to hold it together, trying to stay strong in this little game you'd started, but it was getting harder and harder with every second that passed, every teasing word that left his lips. 

You nodded, the attempt at maintaining composure faltering as a high-pitched, needy "mhm" escaped your throat—a sound more squeak than word. 

Spencer’s eyes narrowed with dark satisfaction, and he huffed a breath, his laughter rumbling from his chest as it ghosted across your most sensitive skin. The sensation drove you wild, made your thighs tense as you tried desperately to keep your composure, to hold back the moan threatening to tear out of you. But then he spoke again, his voice a teasing lilt as his eyes stayed locked on yours, and it was almost too much to handle. 

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with this,” he said, and without another word, he dove in. 

His tongue licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, flattening out as if he were savoring every inch of you, the wetness of his mouth sending heat crashing through your entire body. And then he did it again, his tongue gliding through you like he was on a mission—hungry, eager, like he was trying to win a pie-eating contest. Every movement was frantic yet precise, a perfect blend of urgency and skill, his tongue moving against you in ways that made you see stars.

The laughter melted into pure focus as he went to work, his tongue circling and flicking, finding all the places that made you gasp and arch and shake. And he never stopped, never let up, his mouth relentless in its pursuit, as if he wanted to draw every single sound out of you, to hear his name fall from your lips again and again. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging helplessly as the pleasure built and built, and you couldn’t bite back the moans any longer. His name was still held tight behind your teeth, but the noises were free flowing as he sucked on your clit.

Spencer moaned in response, the vibrations adding a whole new level of sensation that made your hips buck against his mouth. He held you steady with his hands, pinning your thighs down as he dove deeper, the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue on you filling the room. And you could feel it, that coil tightening and tightening, your whole body trembling on the edge, Spencer’s mouth pushing you closer and closer.

Spencer pulled back for a second, just enough for you to see the wet shine on his lips, the way his mouth was parted in a smug, wicked grin. “Not gonna break, darling?” he teased, the words slow and taunting as he traced his fingers lazily along your thigh, his eyes never leaving yours.

You shook your head harshly, your hair spreading messily across the pillow, breath coming in quick pants as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But it was getting harder. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of your body craving more of his touch, and all you could do was bite your lip and hope you could hold out a little longer.

Spencer let out a deep, dramatic sigh, as if he were genuinely disappointed. “Guess I’ll have to try something else then,” he murmured, and though the words sounded like he was relenting, you could see the glint in his eyes—the one that said he was far from finished with you.

Before you could even process what he meant, before you could prepare yourself for whatever he had planned, your world spun. He flipped your body over effortlessly, your stomach pressed against the mattress, and then he gripped your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. Your breath hitched in surprise, your face buried in the pillow for a second as you tried to brace yourself, your mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift.

And then, before you could say a word, before you could even think, Spencer dove back in, his mouth finding you again with that same fevered intensity. But this time, he didn’t hold back. His fingers found your clit immediately, and he began rubbing tight, insistent circles, teasing and flicking the sensitive nub with just the right amount of pressure. 

You couldn’t help it—you moaned loudly, your body jerking back against his face, the sensation too overwhelming to contain. The change in position had made everything more intense, more exposed, and the way he was touching you was driving you to the edge so fast you could barely keep up.

“Spencer—” you gasped, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into the pillow, your hands clawing at the sheets for something—anything—to hold on to. But Spencer was relentless, his fingers moving expertly as he licked and sucked, his mouth working you over with a single-minded focus. 

“Louder,” he commanded against your skin between long, slow licks, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me hear you.” And with that, he doubled down, his fingers pressing harder, his mouth driving you absolutely wild, the wetness and heat of him pushing you further and further until there was nothing left to hold back.

Your body trembled, and you felt the pressure building, your resolve crumbling, every breath coming out as a desperate plea, a broken cry. And all the while, Spencer kept at it, refusing to let up, determined to make you fall apart completely, to make you cry out his name like it was all you knew.

"Spencer... oh god, Spencer—" His name spilled from your lips over and over, breathy and desperate, unraveling any control you had left. The more you said it, the more it became a mantra, each syllable breaking apart in the waves of pleasure rolling through your body. Spencer’s eyes flickered up, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, so smug and sure as he watched you crumble.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. It was all the encouragement you needed and all the power he needed to dive back in, his mouth working you with renewed determination. He gripped your thigh tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, his fingers never relenting as they pressed circles against your clit in perfect rhythm with his tongue.

Every lick, every flick of his tongue sent jolts of pleasure crashing through you, and you felt your body tense and tremble, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable peak. It felt like he was everywhere at once—touching, tasting, teasing—and all you could do was give in to the relentless onslaught, your hands clawing at the sheets as your hips bucked involuntarily against his face.

Spencer moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core and pulling you closer and closer to the edge. He wanted to make sure you felt every second of this, every ripple of pleasure, his only focus on bringing you to completion—bringing you to the brink and pushing you over, completely undone by him.

“Spencer, please—” You barely recognized your own voice, high and ragged, pleading as that coil of pleasure twisted tighter and tighter in your belly. And he heard you—oh, he heard you loud and clear. His mouth moved with a purpose now, tongue swirling and flicking over your clit with his fingers as they quickened their pace, leaving you nowhere to go but over the edge, no choice but to fall.

And then, all at once, you shattered, your body arching as your orgasm crashed over you, hard and overwhelming. You cried out his name, a desperate, breathless sob of pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed through you, leaving you trembling and gasping under his touch. And through it all, Spencer never let up, his mouth and fingers guiding you through every second, every pulse, every blissful aftershock.

“Too much,” you whimpered, your voice coming out in a broken cry as Spencer’s tongue continued its work, lapping up everything you’d given him like he was savoring the taste of you. “Spencer!” The overstimulation was making your thighs quiver, your whole body twitching under his relentless touch, and you reached down to push at his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to pull away.

Spencer let out a satisfied hum, and then he gave one last slow, deep suck against you, drawing out every ounce of your pleasure until you were gasping and shaking beneath him. He finally pulled back, placing a gentle kiss to your thigh before giving your ass a playful slap, just hard enough to make you flinch and then giggle softly, your breath coming out in a tired, happy sigh.

“Are you still with me, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice gentle and full of concern as he moved up the bed, helping you flip back over so you were lying face-up, sprawled across his mattress. He settled in next to you, his body warm and solid against your side, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, his fingers tracing soft, soothing circles against your stomach. 

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, your body buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice coming out small and breathless. “I’m... I’m here.” You turned your head to look at him, meeting his eyes, which were full of adoration, his expression soft and open in a way that made your heart swell. 

Spencer smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his fingers never stopping their gentle stroking against your skin. “Good,” he whispered, his voice low and tender. “You were amazing.” He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his gaze lingering on you like he was memorizing every detail, every moment. “I hope... I didn’t push too far.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head and giving him a tired but contented smile. “You were perfect.” You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his jawline as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

He kissed you back, slow and sweet, holding you close as the two of you lay there, tangled up in each other, the room still buzzing with the energy of what had just happened. And as he held you, his touch gentle and soothing, you felt safe, wanted, and completely, utterly his.

But then your brain finally caught up with your body, reality rushing in to fill the spaces left by pleasure. You couldn't ignore the truth any longer—this wasn’t a relationship, it was a hookup. You'd wanted everything from him, but right now, it seemed like "everything" only meant the physical. And as much as you wanted to lose yourself in the warmth of his touch, the closeness, the tenderness, you reminded yourself that this was just tonight. That he probably didn’t want to cuddle, or hold you, or whisper sweet words to you in the dark.

So you gently pushed his hand away, your touch soft but firm as you sat up, putting just enough distance between the two of you. You felt his eyes on your back, confusion, maybe even concern, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. It was easier to keep moving, to give yourself a new focus rather than dwell on the ache in your chest.

“Is something wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle but tinged with a hint of worry, like he was afraid he’d done something wrong. He scooted up beside you, trying to catch your eye, the warmth of his body still lingering against your side. 

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as you steeled yourself, pasting on a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “No, not at all,” you said, your voice a little too bright, a little too eager. “I’m... just returning the favor.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with arousal at the thought, but there was something else there too—something quieter, sadder. He couldn’t hide the way his expression flickered, the way the tension in his face softened into something more resigned. “Oh,” he breathed out, trying to cover the disappointment in his voice as his stomach twisted. For a moment, he'd thought this could be more than just sex—that maybe you’d want to stay wrapped in his arms, share whispers and touches until the morning. But as he looked at you now, as he saw the way you sat up and turned away, it became clear that wasn’t the case. 

And yet, the feel of your skin, the taste of your lips, and the way you were looking at him now with that determined glint in your eye—he couldn’t deny how much he wanted you. Even if just like this. 

“Right,” he said, shifting slightly to lie back, his voice lower, more hesitant than it had been all night. “Of course. I... I’d love that.” But even as his words hung in the air, he could feel the growing disconnect between what he wanted and what was happening. His erection tightened under the arousal of what was to come but flagged slightly at the realization of what it meant—that this was just sex to you. 

His hand found it’s way to your thigh as he tried to steady himself, to focus on the pleasure and not the ache of being so close to something he couldn’t quite touch. You were right here with him, offering him everything in the only way you thought he wanted it, and for now, he would take it—however he could.

You grinned at Spencer, trying to mask the turmoil swirling inside you, hoping that the sly smile you wore could hide the aching confusion beneath. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, and you let your eyes flick over his face, memorizing every feature, every little detail—the way his eyes were half-lidded with arousal, the blush dusting his cheeks, the anticipation tightening his body beneath yours. It was easier to focus on that, easier to lose yourself in the thrill of the moment than face the other thoughts circling in your mind.

You leaned down, pressing kisses along the column of his neck, feeling his breath catch as your lips brushed over his pulse, warm and quick beneath your touch. He tasted like salt and skin, and you let yourself revel in it as your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, fingers working quickly as you popped each one open. You could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, his body responding to every kiss, every brush of your fingers.

Spencer’s hands found your hips, and he gripped you tightly as you straddled his lap, the warmth of you pressing down against his erection. His eyes fluttered closed as you kissed a path down his neck, teeth grazing lightly, and a low groan rumbled through his chest. He loved the way you felt on top of him, the way you moved, and the way your hands roamed across his skin.

You felt the way his fingers gripped tighter as if trying to ground himself in the moment, as you focused on how he looked beneath you. How beautiful he was in this light, with his shirt half-open and his chest rising and falling with each breath. You peeled back the fabric slowly, exposing his chest inch by inch, the cool air of the room meeting the warmth of his skin. 

"God, Spencer," you murmured against his collarbone, letting your voice drip with as much seduction as you could muster, your fingers splaying across his chest. “You look so good like this.” You hoped the words would cover the cracks in your voice, that he wouldn’t hear the faint tremor of uncertainty underneath.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands moving up your sides, and he tilted his head back, giving you full access to him as he tried to focus only on you—on the feel of your body against his, on the way you were making him feel. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice low and rough with want as he tried to keep himself steady. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

Your lips met his again, desperate and heated, trying to drown out any lingering questions with the taste of him and the feeling of his body pressing against yours, every inch of him wanting you, needing you. You could feel the hard length of him straining against his pants, and it only spurred you on more, hands moving quickly to strip him bare. You worked the button open, dragging his pants and boxers down his hips in one swift motion, eager to feel him, to be as close as possible.

When he was finally exposed, you couldn’t help but pause, taking him in for a moment. The sight of him—hard and ready, the flush of arousal painting him beautifully—left you breathless, and a gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Jesus...” you whispered, and it was all you could manage. 

Spencer’s chuckle was soft but nervous, his eyes searching yours, a hint of vulnerability in them despite the heat of the moment. He was waiting, holding back, and you knew he needed to hear something from you, anything that would reassure him, that would let him know you wanted this as much as he did. But the words got caught in your throat, overwhelmed by how badly you needed him, how badly you needed to feel him right then and there.

You didn't say anything else, letting your actions speak for you. With a confident ease, you climbed back up his body, pressing a line of kisses up his torso, then his chest, and finally back to his lips, never letting your eyes leave his as you aligned yourself over him. You reached between your bodies, guiding him to you, and in one smooth movement, you sank down on him, taking him inside, the stretch of him making your head fall back as you moaned low and long.

Spencer’s mouth fell open, a sharp breath escaping as he filled you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength, his eyes rolling shut as he fought to steady himself. "Oh my god," he groaned, his voice trembling with pleasure as he felt the warmth of you wrap around him, the way you held him tight, every inch of you fitting perfectly against him. 

You took a second to adjust, feeling the fullness of him, the way he stretched and pressed against every part of you, and then you started to move, slow and teasing at first, rolling your hips against him. The drag of him inside you, the way he fit, had you gasping and shaking, every movement sending sparks through your body.

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of reverence, and his fingers dug into your hips, trying to keep himself from losing control too soon. “Y/N... oh god, you feel so—” But the words dissolved into another groan as you started to pick up your pace, the heat between you both building to a wild, frantic rhythm that neither of you could hold back from.

All the tension, all the desire from the past weeks melted into each thrust, each roll of your hips, until there was nothing left but you and him, lost together in the purest, most overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer’s hands gripped you tightly, guiding you down hard and deep with every roll of your hips, each thrust driving him further inside until he hit that perfect spot within you. The pleasure was all-consuming, and you couldn't stop the cries that poured from your lips, his name tumbling out of you over and over again, desperate and broken, as if you’d forgotten how to say anything else. 

“Spencer—oh god, Spencer—” You could feel the pressure building, your body tightening around him, and you rode him harder, faster, chasing that feeling, the peak that you were so close to reaching. Each thrust, each grind of your hips against his, brought you closer, the pleasure crackling through you like electricity, and all you could do was hold on and let it take you.

Spencer’s voice was a rough groan beneath you, his own control slipping as he watched you come undone. “God, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes locking on yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he took in the way you moved over him, the way you used him. “You’re just... using me to get off?”

You whined in response, unable to form any coherent words, your head nodding almost frantically as you chased that sweet release, riding him like it was the only thing that mattered. You dug your fingers into his chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin as you arched your back, letting every inch of him fill you, stretch you.

“That’s so goddamn hot,” Spencer groaned, his voice breaking as he thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, from the way your body rocked against his, the way you came apart with every movement. “God, you’re so... beautiful like this.”

He thrust up into you with even more force, spurred on by the desperate way you moaned his name, the way your body responded to him so perfectly. The feeling of you gripping around him, taking him so completely, had him on the edge, barely holding back, but he wanted to see you come undone first—to make you fall apart while you used him for your own pleasure.

And as you moved above him, both of you lost in the heat of it all, you knew you were close, so close, the pressure building and tightening until it was almost unbearable, every cry of his name pushing you closer to that edge, to the release that was just within your reach.

Spencer watched you intently, his gaze locked on your face as you rode him, taking in every little shift in your expression—the way your eyes squeezed shut, the furrow in your brow, the way your mouth fell open as you chased that high, so close to coming undone. He knew you were getting there, teetering right on the edge, and he wanted to be the one to push you over, to watch you fall apart completely.

He brought his fingers down to where your bodies met, finding your clit again. The touch was gentle at first, a teasing brush of his fingertips, and then he pressed down, rubbing firm, tight circles that matched the rhythm of your movements. The sensation sent shockwaves through you, the sudden stimulation pushing you closer, every nerve lighting up as his fingers worked in tandem with his cock inside you.

“Spencer!” you cried out, your voice cracking with pleasure as you jerked against him, your hips stuttering as you tried to keep up the pace, tried to keep that feeling going. But the way he touched you, the way he filled you, it was all too much, too perfect. You clenched tightly around him, your body trembling as the pressure inside you built to an almost unbearable peak.

“That's it, sweetheart,” Spencer groaned, his voice low and rough with desire as he felt you tightening around him, your walls pulsing, squeezing. “Come on, I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

And that was all you needed—all it took was that extra pressure of his fingers, the way his voice coaxed you, deep and sweet, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, and you cried out loudly, your entire body shaking as your orgasm washed through you, overwhelming and all-encompassing. You dug your nails into Spencer’s chest, your head falling back as your hips bucked against his, clenching around him tightly, rhythmically, drawing him even deeper as the pleasure rolled over you in wave after wave.

Spencer watched you come undone, his eyes drinking in every second of your release, feeling every pulse and tremor as you came around him. And God, the way you fell apart in his hands, the sound of your cries, your moans—it drove him wild, pushed him right to the brink of losing control.

Spencer’s own release was close, too close to hold back any longer as he felt you pulsing around him, your cries of pleasure echoing in his ears. He couldn’t last, not with the way you were trembling, the way you were milking him with every pulse of your orgasm. 

With a shaky groan, he quickly pushed your body off of his, the movement almost frantic, and you landed on your back beside him. He wrapped his hand around himself, working his length fast and hard, chasing his own high with ragged breaths. He leaned over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumped himself, his strokes quick and desperate as he watched you, your face still flushed and blissed-out from your release.

“Fuck—” he choked out, and then, with a few more rough strokes, he finished, spilling hot across both your stomachs, his eyes squeezing shut as he came undone. His groans were deep and guttural, his hips jerking as he rode out his climax, and he kept pumping himself, milking every last drop as it painted your skin, hot and slick.

He stilled above you, panting heavily as he slowly came back down, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. The sticky heat of his release covered both of you, mingling between your skin, and for a moment, all you could hear were the soft gasps of breath between you, the air thick with the heady scent of sweat and sex.

You wanted nothing more than to cuddle up beside Spencer and melt into his warmth, to trace the lines of his face with your fingertips and let yourself fall completely into this moment. But you knew better. You knew that if you stayed, if you let yourself indulge in the comfort of his arms and the soft, gentle post-coital haze that hung between you, you’d only fall for him harder. And you couldn’t do that—couldn’t let yourself want more than what this was supposed to be.

So you forced a laugh, light and casual, as you started to pull yourself up, peeling away from the tangled sheets and the heat of his body. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you, heard the confusion in his voice when he spoke. “Where—where are you going?” he asked, his voice still heavy with exhaustion and bliss, soft and a little vulnerable as he propped himself up on his elbow to look at you.

You turned to him, trying to keep your tone easy, like this wasn’t a big deal, like the moment you just shared didn’t make your heart want to explode with everything you felt for him. “Um, pee,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes as you reached for your scattered clothes, finding tissues for your stomach before pulling your clothes on. “And then... home.”

“Home?” The word came out small and tired, and he pushed himself up a little further, watching you with a furrowed brow. “But—”

“Where’s your bathroom?” You interrupted, flashing him a quick, forced smile. You could see the slight hurt flash across his face, but you kept going, not letting yourself dwell on it. You couldn’t let him see the hesitation, the way your hands were trembling slightly as you tried to gather yourself.

“Down the hall, to the left,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of that sleepy warmth, a touch of disappointment leaking in.

“Great, thanks,” you replied, already making your way out of the room before he could ask any more questions or before the guilt could creep up and make you stay. Because if you stayed, even for a second longer, you were afraid you’d never leave.

After taking a moment in the bathroom to compose yourself, you splashed some water on your face, staring at your reflection. You tried to convince yourself that this was the right thing to do—that leaving now, before things got any more complicated, was what you both needed. But as you stepped out, walking back down the hall and catching a glimpse of Spencer waiting for you near the front door, the resolve you’d tried to build up wavered. 

He looked... different. Still tousled from your time together, his hair a wild mess, and his shirt half-open, but his expression was carefully neutral, masking whatever he might be feeling behind a tired, gentle smile. You could see the hint of some almost sad in his eyes, the way he was trying to be a gentleman about it all.

“Let me... let me walk you out,” Spencer said softly, moving to open the door for you. He was trying to keep his tone casual, but you could hear the strain in it, the unspoken question in his voice—did this mean anything to you? Were you going to leave and forget what happened?

You nodded, swallowing down the knot in your throat as you stepped closer to him. “Thank you,” you said quietly, not really knowing what else to say. Your words felt small and empty against the weight of everything that had just happened, of everything you were leaving unsaid.

He held the door open for you, the cool air from the hallway washing over both of you. And as you stepped out into that space, Spencer followed you, walking just a little bit behind as if making sure you wouldn't change your mind at the last second and turn back around. The silence between you was heavy, filled with everything you wished you could say, but couldn’t find the words for. 

When you reached the doorway to the building, Spencer hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to you one last time, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that might give him a reason to ask you to stay. But all he could do was give you that same tired, bittersweet smile, the one that tried to be reassuring, like this was just another night, even though both of you knew it wasn’t.

“So... um, thanks,” you said awkwardly, glancing down at your feet, not wanting to meet his eyes. You could feel the warmth of his gaze on you, the way he was trying so hard to keep his composure, to act like this was okay when it was anything but. “For tonight. It was...”

“Yeah,” Spencer said quickly, nodding as if to cut you off, to spare you from having to finish the thought. “Yeah, of course. Thank you for... everything.”

He was trying to act like it didn’t hurt, like he wasn’t struggling to let you go. He reached out to open the door fully, stepping aside to let you through, and you could see the way he forced himself to smile, to be the gentleman that he always was, no matter how much it stung.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice gentle but edged with something fragile.

You nodded, giving him one last smile before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door close behind you. And as you walked away, hearing the faint click of the lock as Spencer closed the door to his apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake by leaving, or if you were saving yourself from the hurt and rejection that you didn’t want to face.

—

Monday morning came with a bustle of energy through the bullpen—the start of a new week and, for the team, the renewed curiosity about what had gone down between Spencer and his "girl." It didn't take long for the teasing to start, either. From the moment Spencer walked in, sipping his coffee and trying his best to shake off the weekend’s melancholy, he could see the glances, the grins that were being traded across the room like secrets.

Derek was the first to pounce, of course. “Well, well, well,” he called out as Spencer passed by his desk. “There he is—the man of the hour. So, pretty boy, how was your weekend? Got any fun stories you want to share?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face as if he knew exactly what kind of weekend Spencer had.

JJ joined in, setting her file down and giving Spencer a warm, knowing smile. “Yeah, Spence, you seemed... pretty cozy on Friday night.” She wagged her eyebrows playfully, nudging Emily, who tried to cover a laugh with a sip of her coffee.

Spencer felt his face flush, his mind immediately going back to every detail of the weekend—the feel of your skin, the taste of your lips, the way your voice had wrapped around his name. But that was quickly overshadowed by the stark reality of how it had ended, the way you’d quietly slipped away from his apartment, leaving him standing alone at his door with that empty feeling gnawing at his chest. He tried to push those thoughts away, forcing a smile that he hoped looked genuine.

“It was... good,” he said, his voice strained but steady as he tried to keep things light, to play along. He didn't want to reveal how much it hurt, how much he missed you already, and how little he understood what had gone wrong. “I’m hoping to see her again soon.”

“Good?” Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “That's all you got for us? Come on, Reid, you two were practically eye-fucking all night. Don’t tell me nothing happened after we left.”

Spencer's stomach twisted painfully at the mention, but he kept his smile plastered on, his eyes darting between Derek, JJ, and Emily, who were all watching him like hawks. It stung—the teasing, the jokes, all the assumptions that this was some carefree fling. But he nodded along, chuckling softly, trying to play the part they wanted to see. “Yeah, well... we, uh, definitely had fun,” he said, voice dipping into a joking tone to cover up how much it hurt to talk about. “I mean, we’ll see what happens. But yeah, I’d like to see her again.”

“Yeah, you better,” JJ added with a teasing smile. “Don’t let her get away, Spence. She seemed really into you.”

Spencer could only nod, his jaw clenching as he forced another smile, wishing he could know what was going on in your mind—whether you felt the same tug he did, the same yearning to make this more than just a fleeting encounter. But he didn’t know, and it left him trying to walk the tightrope between hope and disappointment, pretending like he was confident it would all work out when he had no idea if he’d ever see you again. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “I hope so too.” 

And with that, he settled down at his desk, burying himself in case files and paperwork, doing his best to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest—an ache that wouldn’t go away until he knew for sure whether that night was a beginning or just a beautiful, painful end.

—

It was a slow, uneventful morning until Hotch's computer decided to crash—a rare occurrence, almost as if it was a twist of fate. Penelope Garcia had called in sick, leaving the team without their usual tech support, and within minutes, someone had dialed down to IT, asking for assistance. And that someone, by sheer luck or cruel coincidence, was you. 

You hadn't seen Spencer since that night two weeks ago, since you’d slipped out of his apartment with all the confused, conflicting emotions weighing you down. And now, you were walking into the lion’s den again, nervous energy buzzing in your veins as you stepped off the elevator and into the BAU's office. 

You did a quick sweep, your eyes flickering around the bullpen, half hoping to catch sight of him, half praying you wouldn't. But Spencer wasn’t there. Relief flooded you, though it didn't completely ease the tension that coiled in your chest as you made your way to Hotch’s office, trying to keep your head down and your nerves at bay.

Inside the office, Hotch greeted you with his usual calm, professional manner, moving aside to let you work on his computer. You kept your focus on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard as you tried to fix whatever issue had brought you there. In the background, you could hear the faint chatter of the team, the sounds blending into an indistinct hum as you concentrated on the task at hand.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had just returned from the breakroom, a cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes wandering across the bullpen as he made his way to his desk. Emily couldn’t resist the opportunity to stir the pot. “Hey, Reid,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye, leaning over to speak low enough for only him to hear. “Your girl’s here.”

Spencer froze, his heart skipping a beat at her words. “What?” he asked, his voice hitching slightly as he glanced around, searching for you. He’d all but given up hope on seeing you again, the past two weeks of silence gnawing at him more than he cared to admit. And now, suddenly, there you were. His mind raced, torn between the rush of excitement and the cold twinge of nerves that settled in his stomach. What was he supposed to say? Would you even want to see him after how things had ended?

Before he could think too much about it, you emerged from Hotch’s office, closing the door softly behind you. You kept your eyes trained downward, trying to make yourself small, invisible. If you could just get back to the elevators without making a scene, maybe you could get out of there with your dignity intact. But, of course, luck wasn’t on your side today.

“Hey! IT’s finest!” Derek’s booming voice called out from across the bullpen, drawing all eyes to you instantly. You stopped in your tracks, cringing internally as a dozen pairs of eyes turned in your direction. Spencer’s included.

You forced a smile, though you could feel the tension behind it, as you made your way over to Derek, who was wearing a wide, friendly grin. “Hey, uh... how's it going?” you said, trying to sound casual even though your voice wavered slightly. You could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, and it took all your willpower not to look in his direction. Not yet.

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. “You know, just solving crimes, catching bad guys. The usual.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “So... what's a pretty thing like you doing back here? Finally caved and came to see our boy Reid?”

Your face heated instantly, and you let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head. “No, no, just... just fixing Hotch’s computer,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “Nothing more exciting than that, I promise.”

“Sure, sure,” Derek said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But come on, don’t tell me you’re just here for tech support.” 

You could feel the tension in your shoulders tighten, and you stole a quick, hesitant glance at Spencer. He was standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on you, and there was something soft, almost hopeful in the way he looked at you. It made your heart clench, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“Uh...” You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together, to keep things professional. “Yeah, just here for the tech support today. Don’t want to distract you guys from your very important crime-solving.” You flashed another smile, this one a little tighter, hoping that Derek would let it go, that he wouldn’t push any further. 

But it was clear from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to make it that easy. “Right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, dragging out the word and giving Spencer a sidelong glance. “But maybe you could let Reid walk you out. Y’know, since you’re here and all.”

The suggestion hung in the air, and you felt the eyes of the team flicker between you and Spencer, waiting for one of you to say something, to acknowledge the elephant in the room. And there it was—your chance, your opening. But all you could do was stand there, your mouth dry, your heart pounding as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Sure,” Spencer said quickly, nodding before his nerves could make him hesitate, walking up to you and motioning for you to follow him. The entire bullpen was alive with curiosity, but he just needed to get you out of there, to talk to you without the eyes and teasing of the team on him. You let your feet carry you forward, not thinking too much about what was happening, just moving, as if the mere act of walking with him would help you find the right words.

When the two of you reached the elevators, safely out of earshot of the others, Spencer hit the button, and the metallic doors loomed before you both, a quiet hum in the background as you stood there in a tense, uncertain silence. “How are you?” he asked after a beat, his voice gentle, like he was feeling his way through the dark.

“Good, yeah,” you said with a small smile, nodding, trying to seem relaxed, like seeing him again wasn’t sending your heart into overdrive. “You?”

“Alright,” he said, but the word felt tight on his tongue, and the forced smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shifted on his feet, nervous but determined to get the words out. “Listen... uh, I would love to see you again.” His eyes searched yours, hopeful but guarded, waiting to see how you would respond, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the unexpected proposal, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral. See you again? What did he mean—see you like a date? See you like the last time? The possibility twisted your insides, and you tried to tamp down your excitement, afraid of reading into something that wasn’t there. “Like, um, like a friends with benefits kind of thing?” you asked, your voice dropping to a hush, your eyes darting away from his as you felt your cheeks flush.

Spencer’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and for a moment, he felt his heart crack painfully in his chest. Friends with benefits. The words echoed in his mind, a harsh reminder that maybe that was still all you saw him as—someone to fulfill a physical need, no strings attached. But he cleared his throat quickly, trying to hide the disappointment and keep his voice steady. If that was what you wanted, then he would take it, even if it wasn’t the everything he had hoped for. “If that’s what you want, yeah,” he said, nodding, his tone measured, trying to keep the hurt from creeping in.

You nodded slowly, mulling over the suggestion in your mind, and Spencer could see the wheels turning, the way you bit your lip as you processed. “Here,” you said suddenly, your voice sharper as you reached for your bag. “Let me give you my number. That way, um, we don’t have any more... mix-ups.”

Spencer fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone, and as he handed it to you, your fingers brushed for just a second, and he felt that familiar warmth between you, the spark that had drawn you together in the first place. He watched as you entered your number into his contacts, typing quickly, and he couldn’t help the tightness in his throat, that small flare of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could still turn into something more.

—

It didn’t turn into more. Whatever fragile hope Spencer had harbored that morning at the elevators was soon buried beneath a pattern—one that quickly set the boundaries of what you and he were to each other. It became late nights where desire spoke louder than words, where you tangled together in sheets, sweaty limbs intertwining as your bodies moved in frenzied desperation, searching for relief in each other’s touch.

There were stolen moments in showers, hurried, steam-filled exchanges that left the water cold by the end. The couches became your playground, backs arching and cries muffled into cushions. Once, in a fit of passion, you even found yourselves in his car, fogging up the windows until the world outside was nothing but a blurred haze of headlights and stars. And then there was that one reckless, electrifying night when you found yourselves in an empty office at the bureau, your hands gripping the edge of a desk as Spencer pressed into you from behind, your lips swollen from rough, unrestrained kisses.

It was hot, it was desperate, it was everything you could’ve ever asked for physically—but it was also never enough. And that was the problem. 

Each time you met, you felt yourself slipping further, falling harder, wanting more than just his body. It was becoming impossible to ignore the way you longed for the tenderness in his eyes, the way you craved his words, his thoughts, the parts of him he only showed in stolen, fleeting glimpses when you let your guard down for just a moment. And that longing terrified you. So you built up walls, retreating into the comfort of what was familiar and safe, convincing yourself that if you just kept things purely physical, if you kept your heart locked away, you wouldn’t have to feel the ache of wanting more than he was willing to give.

You started avoiding his gaze during your meetings, your eyes focused on the patterns of the ceiling, on the textures of the sheets, anywhere but on the way he looked at you with those wide, searching eyes, like he was begging you for something you knew he didn’t actually want. You chose to face away more often, burying your face in pillows, letting your hair cover the expressions you couldn’t bear to let him see. You kissed him less, keeping the physicality to hurried touches, heated grinding, and the frantic moments just before release. It was easier that way, you told yourself. Easier to pretend this was only sex, that you could handle it, that this was all you needed.

And you focused on the penetration, not intimacy—because that was the safe part, the part you could control. You held back from the slow, lingering touches, from the tender kisses that came after, from the whispered words of comfort and vulnerability that would only make you fall further. 

But Spencer noticed. He noticed every time you turned your face away, every time you shied from his kisses, every time you hurried to get dressed afterward as if you couldn’t stand to linger in his embrace for a second longer. He wanted to hold you, to pull you close, to ask you to stay. But every time he tried, every time he leaned in for more, he felt you pull away, felt you retreat back into that familiar distance, and each time his heart cracked a little bit more.

He tried to tell himself it was fine—that this was what you wanted, that this was all he deserved. He tried to lose himself in the pleasure, to focus on the way you felt around him, the sounds you made, the desperate way you held onto him as you came. But it was getting harder to ignore the ache that settled deep in his chest, the realization that no matter how often you came to him, no matter how many nights you spent tangled together, you would never feel more for him. Not the way he felt for you.

And so every meeting felt bittersweet—a desperate, beautiful lie that neither of you was willing to confront, even as it tore both of you apart piece by piece. You gave Spencer your body, but he wanted your heart. And every time you left his bed, leaving him alone in the darkness, he felt himself break a little more, knowing that, to you, he would never be more than just a hookup.

Even when you hung out with his team, those nights at O’Keefe’s where you and Spencer would laugh, joke, and play along with whatever assumptions the team had about you—those were the nights when everything felt right, even if it was all a pretense. There was an unspoken understanding between you both: in front of the team, you were allowed to touch each other casually, to drape an arm over his shoulder, to tease him playfully. You could let your walls down just enough to give the illusion of a couple, and it made things easier, simpler. And perhaps that was the irony of it all—pretending to be in love felt more real than any of the other moments you shared in the dark, tangled up in each other but hiding everything you really felt.

Those nights were both of your favorites, even if neither of you ever admitted it. You could spend hours at the booth, letting your fingers brush his under the table, leaning into him when he said something that made you laugh, seeing the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. It felt natural, like you could actually be yourselves without the pressure of whatever complicated mess lay beneath the surface. You could talk—really talk. About books, movies, things you loved, things you hated. You’d tell each other stories, recounting things from your childhoods or sharing jokes that left you breathless with laughter, and you’d feel so comfortable, so close, that it almost felt like everything was normal, like everything was real.

And for Spencer, those were the nights when he could feel you—really feel you—in a way he never could when you were both alone. Because as much as he cherished the physical closeness you shared behind closed doors, the passion and the desperate intimacy of your bodies entwined, it was in these fleeting, stolen moments at O’Keefe’s that he felt closest to your heart. When you would reach for his hand under the table and smile softly at him, or when you would brush a lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering on his skin, he could almost convince himself that you felt the same way he did—that this wasn’t just some elaborate charade.

But those nights would always end the same way: you and Spencer leaving together, waving goodbye to the team as if you were a couple heading home for the night, leaving them with knowing smiles and half-teasing jokes. But the minute you were alone, away from prying eyes, the reality would settle back in. You’d let go of his hand. You’d pull away, your laughter softening into something more guarded, more careful. And eventually, no matter how close the two of you got, no matter how much you both secretly wanted to stay together, you would leave. 

You would leave him alone at the end of the night—because you had to. Because letting things be more, letting things get real, meant giving up the safety of your carefully constructed distance. So you’d walk away, your heart heavy with the knowledge that the moments you cherished most were always fleeting, always just a little too far out of reach.

And Spencer would stand there, alone in the cold night, watching you go, holding on to the ghost of your touch and the bittersweet ache of wanting more. Because he knew, deep down, that these nights were all you would ever have, and he’d take them—even if they were only pretend, even if they left him lonelier than before.

One particular night, after a long day of cases and a gnawing loneliness that seemed to cling to him like a shadow, Spencer found himself needing more than just the physical—he needed to feel loved, to hear the affection you kept locked away in those moments when you were the most vulnerable. He needed something real, something that reminded him that this wasn’t just sex, even if only for a moment. He needed to feel like you were both giving something to each other.

You were on top of him, your bodies pressed tightly together, but Spencer’s mind was far from just the feeling of your skin on his. He craved that intimacy from your first night together—the way you’d whispered his name like a prayer, like it was the only thing you could think of, the only word that existed in that moment. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you in a slow, needy rhythm, his voice catching in his throat as he whispered, “Say my name... please, sweetheart. Just... please.”

But you shook your head, your movements hitching slightly as you tried to keep the steady pace between you, the friction that grounded you in the moment. “No,” you said simply, and it came out firm, leaving no room for ambiguity. It wasn’t a game this time, not a playful challenge like it had been before. It was the truth, and the truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Saying his name made things too real—it cracked open the walls you’d built around your heart, made it harder to keep your feelings for him hidden.

Spencer’s face fell, but he masked it quickly, trying not to let his disappointment show. He gave a small, tight nod, and didn’t push for more, didn’t beg you the way he wanted to. He kept his hands on your hips, holding you close as you rocked against him, but something in him broke fully that night. A bitter realization set in—one that twisted the love he felt for you into something darker, something sharp and painful. 

He began to resent you. He resented you for how much he loved you, how he’d let himself fall so deeply for someone who couldn’t, wouldn’t, give him anything more than her body. He resented the way he craved your touch, the way you had become the person he wanted to see after every case, the person he wanted to come home to. And most of all, he resented how much of himself he was willing to give, only to be met with the cold reminder that this was all it would ever be to you—a hookup, a distraction, never more.

The resentment didn’t come all at once. It crept in like a slow poison, staining every moment you shared, every kiss you almost pressed to his skin, every time you left his bed without a backward glance. He started to pull away, his touches less gentle, his eyes more distant, and it became harder to ignore the walls you’d built between you both. But still, he couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t stop wanting you, couldn’t stop hoping that one day, maybe, you would say his name the way he so desperately wanted you to—like he was more than just a body beneath yours, like he meant something.

And so the nights went on, tangled in bedsheets and longing, both of you pretending not to notice the widening chasm between desire and what lay underneath it. But for Spencer, it became clear—painfully, heartbreakingly clear—that loving you was something he’d have to endure quietly, silently, as you continued to offer him your body but never your heart.

—

The night at O’Keefe’s was supposed to be like any other—one of the rare occasions you still went out with the team, where the drinks flowed freely, and everyone could let loose. You sat at the booth as you tried to laugh at Derek’s jokes, nod at JJ’s stories, pretend that everything was fine. But then you saw it—the way Spencer’s eyes lingered on the bartender as he got another drink, the slight lean-in of his body when they laughed at something he said. The way he flashed them that special smile you thought he reserved for you—the way they winked at him when they passed him his drink.

It broke you. Completely shattered the fragile facade you’d held on to for weeks. Your stomach churned at the sight, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. He cares so little about me, you thought bitterly, that he could flirt right in front of me? And then what? Take me home afterward, like nothing had happened? Like I'm just a convenient body? 

As Spencer made his way back to the table, a satisfied, secret smile on his face—one that once would have made your heart flutter but now only made you feel sick—you couldn’t hold it together anymore. You shot up from your seat, brushing past him, barely able to mutter an excuse. He reached out for you, but you shook off his touch, your only focus on getting outside, on breathing, on escaping the sudden wave of tears that threatened to choke you.

“What was that about?” Emily asked, a frown forming as she watched you hurry away.

Spencer shrugged, his smile faltering as he looked back at the table, feeling a pang of anxiety. “I... I don’t know,” he said honestly, staring after you, his brow furrowing.

The team exchanged glances, and JJ leaned over, her voice gentle as she said, “Maybe you should go check on her, Spence. She’s your girlfriend; she probably needs you right now.”

Spencer’s mouth went dry at the word “girlfriend.” They all assumed—had assumed for months—that you were together, that you were a real couple. But in this moment, it didn’t matter what label they had put on it; it only mattered that something was wrong. He didn’t know why, but he needed to find out.

When he got outside, he saw you standing against the wall, your back to him, hands covering your face as you took deep, shaking breaths. The cold air turned every exhale into tiny clouds, and your shoulders trembled slightly as you tried to hold yourself together.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice barely carrying above the nighttime sounds of the city. He didn’t want to startle you, but you whipped your head to look at him instantly, your eyes wide and pained, before you quickly turned away again, swiping at your face like you could erase all evidence of the tears.

“Are you okay?” Spencer tried again, taking a tentative step closer, his voice laced with concern.

“Yup,” you replied, voice wobbling against your hardest attempts to sound steady, your eyes darting upward, desperate to stop the tears from falling again. 

“Why are you out here?” Spencer's tone was gentle, and you hated how much care was in it. You hated how much you still wanted to hear it, even now.

“Just needed some air,” you said with a sniffle, your voice barely above a whisper. But it trembled, and you knew he could hear it. 

Spencer moved closer, finally getting a clear look at your face, at the tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. “You’re crying,” he said softly, like he couldn't quite believe it.

You nodded slowly, and finally, you faced him fully, unable to hold back the swell of emotions any longer. “Um. I’m so sorry,” you said quickly, wiping the fresh tears away with the back of your hand.

Spencer’s brow furrowed deeper in confusion, and he took a step closer, wanting to reach for you but stopping short. “Why? Did something happen?”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that was more sob than amusement. “Yeah. I—uh, I fell in love with you.” The words tumbled out in a rush, harsh and ragged, and the moment they were out, you regretted it, wished you could take them back, swallow them down. But it was too late.

Spencer stood there, completely stunned, his face paling as he tried to process your words. “What?” he whispered, voice cracking on the word. He felt like the ground had just shifted beneath him, and he was scrambling to understand, to catch up to everything you were saying.

“It’s fine,” you said hurriedly, holding up a hand as if to stop him from saying anything more. “You don’t have to say it back or anything. I know you don’t feel the same. I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry.” Your lip wobbled, and you bit down on it hard, willing the tears to stay at bay. “Just—seeing you flirt with that bartender...”

Spencer’s face tightened, and he shook his head quickly. “I wasn’t,” he said, clearing his throat, trying to find the words. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“It’s okay, Spencer.” You felt another sob rise in your throat, and you pressed your hand over your mouth to stifle it. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Spencer bit his tongue, the words he wanted to say lodged painfully in his throat. He didn’t know how to tell you everything he felt, how to bridge the chasm that had grown between you over these past months. But as he stood there, looking at you with tears streaming down your face, the frustration and hurt bubbled up inside of him, and a bitter anger began to mix with the sadness. You were the one who pushed me away, he thought, the one who kept pretending not to care, and now you wanted to be angry at me?

“Do you...” Spencer started, swallowing thickly, the words like sandpaper on his tongue. “Do you still want to see each other?” He knew it was the wrong thing to ask, that it cut too close to the surface, but he needed to know. Needed to know if you wanted to keep doing this—whatever this was.

“For sex?” you scoffed, your voice cracking as you looked at him, the accusation plain on your face.

He nodded noncommittally, his face tight, unable to mask the frustration that twisted inside him. 

And that was it. You let out a sob, turning your face away from him, your shoulders shaking as you pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle the sounds. Without another word, you walked away quickly, your steps hurried and uneven as if you needed to get as far away from him as possible. 

Spencer stayed rooted to the spot, his feet unwilling to move, his mind racing with everything he should’ve said but didn’t. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you how much he loved you, how he’d been holding back because he was afraid you didn’t feel the same. But he didn’t. He just watched you go, the cold air biting at his cheeks, his breath puffing out in desperate clouds as he let you walk away. 

And he felt that sick, familiar emptiness settle in again—worse than before, knowing he’d just let you slip through his fingers.

Eventually Spencer walked back into O’Keefe’s like he was on autopilot, like someone else was moving his body for him while he watched from a distance. The noise of the bar—the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation—washed over him like static, muted and hollow. All he could feel was the cold emptiness in his chest, the lingering sting of your words echoing in his mind. I fell in love with you... It's fine, you don't have to say it back. 

He sat down at the booth mechanically, his movements jerky and disconnected, and immediately felt the eyes of his team on him. The questions came quickly, concern laced in every voice, but Spencer could hardly focus on any of them, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Hey, kid, what happened?” Derek’s voice cut through the fog, his tone gentle but firm, and Spencer felt the weight of his gaze, the protective instinct of a friend who could sense something was very wrong.

Spencer didn’t look up as he answered, staring blankly at the beer bottle in front of him. “She wasn’t feeling good,” he mumbled, hoping his voice didn’t waver. “She... left.”

“What?” JJ’s voice was soft but urgent, leaning in to catch his eyes. “Did something happen between you two?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer replied quickly, almost too quickly, forcing a tight-lipped smile that looked more like a grimace. He took a sip of his drink, the bitter taste filling his mouth, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest. “She just... wasn’t feeling well. Needed to go home.”

The team fell into a tense silence, and he could feel their eyes on him, searching, probing for the real reason behind your sudden departure. Everyone had seen you two together, had seen the way you’d looked at each other. It was an unspoken truth, and now, they could all tell something had changed, something was deeply wrong.

“Spence...” JJ began again, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away slightly, trying to maintain what little composure he still had.

“Really, I’m fine,” he said, the words sharp in a way that was unlike him. He didn't want to talk about it, didn’t want to let the floodgates open and risk breaking down right here, in front of everyone. The team exchanged uneasy glances, but they didn’t push, sensing that this wasn’t just a lovers’ spat, that whatever had happened between you and Spencer was something bigger than they could grasp.

And so they let him be, filling the silence with half-hearted jokes and forced smiles as they tried to keep the night light, but the tension sat heavy between them. All the while, Spencer just sat there, staring into his drink, feeling like he was watching someone else go through the motions of this moment. Like the real him was still outside, staring after you as you walked away, trying to figure out when everything had gone so wrong.

—

You love him?

The words played on a loop in Spencer’s head, each syllable echoing through the empty spaces you’d left behind. You told him that night, outside O’Keefe’s, voice thick with hurt and vulnerability. You, the woman who occupied his thoughts, who made him feel things he’d never felt for anyone else—you loved him. And he’d just let you walk away.

He'd stood there stunned that night, unable to speak, unable to process the revelation that the woman he’d reluctantly, desperately fallen for felt the same way. In the days that followed, he convinced himself that it was for the best, that maybe this was the closure he needed. You’d go back to your separate lives, and he'd be free of the endless cycle of wanting more than you could give. Maybe he'd be able to finally move on.

But that conviction was short-lived. It only took a few days of silence, a few nights spent staring up at the ceiling of his apartment, to realize how hollow that freedom was. And the weeks that passed after that night only twisted the knife deeper. 

When there was an issue with the team’s tech and Penelope wasn’t around, it wasn’t you who showed up to fix it. It was some other IT person—someone with none of your charm, none of your wit. No one who would tease him, brush your fingers lightly against his arm as you leaned over his keyboard. And when they walked in, clipboard in hand, an unfamiliar face staring back at him, the ache in Spencer’s chest grew. He’d check his phone constantly, almost obsessively, hoping for a text, an email, anything. But his inbox remained empty, the silence between you growing deeper and more suffocating each day.

He started noticing the way his team watched him—the way they traded glances when he walked into the bullpen with his usual cup of coffee, the way their conversations dipped into softer tones when he came near. It was pity. Pity for the man who let his girlfriend walk away, who didn’t know how to make it right. They didn't know the truth—that you were never really his girlfriend. That you were never really his at all.

He missed you. He missed you so much that it became unbearable, the absence of you like a phantom limb—something he could still feel, but couldn’t hold, couldn’t touch. He missed the way you’d laugh with the team at O’Keefe’s, the way your eyes would meet his across the table, a secret smile shared between the two of you. He missed the way your hair would brush against his cheek when you leaned in to whisper something in his ear, the way your lips felt on his when the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled together.

And suddenly, O’Keefe’s wasn’t fun anymore. It was just another reminder of what he’d lost. Every time he walked in, he’d expect to see you there—half-hoping, half-dreading the sight of you. But you never came. You never showed, and it left an emptiness in the seat beside him that no one else could fill. 

The nights became the worst part. The silence in his apartment was deafening. He would lie in bed, replaying every moment you’d shared, every touch, every laugh, every whispered word. He could still see the way you’d looked at him when you told him you were in love with him—how your voice wavered with fear, how you tried to cover it up with a laugh as if you could take the words back as soon as they left your lips. He’d let you say them, he’d heard the truth in them, and still, he let you walk away. What kind of fool lets the person they love walk away?

And so it hit him, with a force that left him breathless: Even if you kept him at an arm’s length forever, even if you could never give him everything he wanted, he would still want you. He didn’t need you to be perfect, didn’t need you to promise him the world—he just needed you. The way you made him laugh, the way you challenged him, the way you made his life feel full and bright and real. Even if it meant spending more nights pretending and holding back, Spencer would take it all just to have you close.

Because a life without you—without your smile, your laugh, your presence—is a life he no longer wanted to live. He missed you. He loved you. And he was willing to fight for you, even if it meant picking up the broken pieces of what you both had shattered, putting them back together in any way that would keep you from slipping through his fingers again.

Once Spencer made up his mind, there was a fire inside him—a determination to make things right, to get you back, to show you that he was willing to do whatever it took. He’d spent too many weeks stuck in silence, stuck in regret, and if there was even the smallest chance you’d have him back, he was ready to fight for it. He was already forming a plan in his mind, trying to figure out the words to say, the way to make you see that he’d give you everything he had, no matter how messy or complicated it got.

But before he could put that plan into action, it all came crashing down around him.

It was Penelope who stopped him in his tracks. He’d been pacing the bullpen, trying to work up the nerve to figure out how to reach out to you—how to make that first move—when he saw the look on her face. She was standing near her desk, files forgotten in her hands, her eyes fixed on him with that soft, all-too-knowing expression. And it was enough to make his stomach twist uncomfortably, anxiety clawing at his chest.

“What’s up, Garcia?” he asked, hesitantly, trying to keep his voice steady as he approached her.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, the kind of smile that said she knew far more than she was letting on, and it made Spencer's heart sink. He hated that look, the pity, the way it made him feel like he was already defeated. “Did you hear?” she asked, her voice gentle, as if she was trying to break bad news without shattering him completely.

“...hear what?” he replied, suddenly on edge, the nerves tightening in his chest like a vice. He felt like the floor was slipping out from under him, and he braced himself for whatever she was about to say.

“Oh, honey.” Penelope sighed deeply, placing a hand over her heart as if the words hurt her as much as they were about to hurt him. “Tony in IT asked Y/N out.”

And just like that, Spencer felt his entire world tilt, his heart dropping straight to his stomach. It felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him, leaving him stunned and spinning. He was too late. 

“Tony?” he whispered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “They... they asked her out?” 

Penelope nodded, looking at him with that same expression—so much pity, so much sympathy that it made him want to scream. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “I heard it from them this morning. They said she seemed like she could use a night out, so they asked her.” 

Spencer’s mind raced, every thought muddling together, tangled up in the image of you and Tony, smiling, laughing, kissing. He could barely think straight. Tony—some other person—getting the chance to be close to you, to make you happy. Someone else doing what he’d been too afraid to do. And he knew Tony; they were charming, easygoing, exactly the type of person who could sweep you off your feet, and that thought twisted the knife deeper.

“Did she... did she say yes?” Spencer asked, barely recognizing his own voice, which came out quiet and small, barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Penelope said, her hand gently touching his arm. “But... Spencer, I just thought you should know. In case...” She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence, because Spencer understood exactly what she meant. In case it was too late. In case Tony had already taken the place he’d left open.

He stood there, numb, the walls of the bullpen closing in on him as reality settled in like a heavy weight on his chest. He was too late, and the plan he’d spent days building up in his mind shattered into pieces at his feet, leaving him standing in the wreckage of what could’ve been.

—

You stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, not knowing exactly how to respond to Tony’s hopeful smile. Their offer to take you out caught you off guard, and for a moment you just stared at them, trying to form a polite letdown that wouldn’t hurt their feelings. After all, you thought to yourself, Tony was one of the nicest people in the building. 

“Oh, Tony,” you sighed eventually, feeling a wave of guilt for having to reject their offer. “That is so sweet, I’m just... not looking for anything right now.”

Tony’s smile didn’t falter for a second. They nodded their head, understanding written all over their face as if they’d half expected your answer. “That’s alright!” They said quickly, raising their hands in a surrendering gesture. “We could still go out as friends. You seem like you could use one.”

The kindness in their voice, the way they looked at you like they genuinely wanted to help, made your heart warm. You hadn’t expected them to pivot so easily, to offer friendship instead of romance, and it felt... nice. Like maybe you weren’t as alone as you felt. “Thank you,” you said softly, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down. “I—I do need a friend. That would be great.”

It had been a miserable few weeks, a spiral of regret and heartbreak after you’d confessed your love to Spencer. The words had slipped out before you could stop them, unguarded and vulnerable, and you had no idea what you were thinking when you said it. All you knew was that watching him flirt with someone else made something in you snap, and suddenly all those bottled-up emotions had spilled out, uncontrolled. But the second the words were in the air, you’d known it was a mistake. You were perfectly content to hold it back forever, to let your love for him simmer quietly in the background if it meant keeping Spencer in your life. But now? Now you’d ruined everything. Your feelings had scared him away, pushed him to his limits, and left you standing in the wake of it all, heartbroken and alone.

Tony’s kind offer was the first real light you’d had in weeks, and as you met their warm, friendly eyes, you felt a small sense of relief. You could use a friend—someone who didn’t come with all the baggage of unrequited love, someone who just wanted to spend time with you without expectations.

“Do you want to go to O’Keefe’s?” Tony suggested, their smile widening.

You shook your head quickly, feeling a lump form in your throat at the thought of that place. Too many memories, you thought, and the idea of walking in there without Spencer, without pretending you were a couple in front of the team, or, God, running into him, felt like too much. “No, uh, I go there too much,” you said with a forced laugh, trying to keep your tone light. “Let’s try something new, yeah?”

Tony nodded, the same easy smile still on their face, and you felt a flicker of hope—maybe this would be good for you. Maybe spending time with someone who wanted nothing more than friendship would help you heal, help you forget all the mess and confusion that Spencer left behind. Maybe you could start to feel like yourself again. Or at least pretend.

—

You hadn’t gotten dressed up in weeks—not since that night. Ever since then, you hadn’t felt the need to look nice for anyone. After all, who was there to impress when you weren't leaving the house? Your days blurred together in a cycle of work, staying in, and trying to forget the ache that came with remembering. So you fell into a pattern of sweatpants, oversized shirts, and fuzzy socks. 

But tonight was different. You wanted to make an effort, to show Tony that you appreciated their kindness, their willingness to be there for you without expecting anything in return. So you stood in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection as you did your hair, fixed your face and slipped into an outfit that made you feel like yourself again—put together, confident, maybe even a little happy.

When you met Tony at the place they suggested, a new bar called Brandy’s, you couldn’t help but laugh at how different it was from O’Keefe’s. It was sailor-themed, with ropes hanging from the ceiling, ship wheels mounted on the walls, and bartenders dressed in sailor uniforms, stripes and all. The vibe was lighter, more playful, and you were grateful for that. You didn’t need to be weighed down by memories tonight—you just wanted to relax and forget about everything for a little while.

“Hey!” Tony called out when they saw you walking in, waving from the bar. You made your way over, a genuine smile breaking across your face for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Hey,” you greeted back, sliding onto the barstool beside them. “This place is... something.”

Tony grinned, sliding a drink menu your way. “Yeah, thought it’d be a fun change of pace. And, uh, if you’re in the mood for anything fruity or with a silly name, this is definitely the place.”

You chuckled, scanning the menu. “Well, in that case, I might just have to try whatever sounds the most ridiculous.” 

The two of you laughed, and for a brief moment, the pain of the last few weeks faded into the background. You weren’t just the girl who told Spencer Reid she loved him and was left with the silence afterward. Tonight, you were just you—someone who could enjoy a night out with a new friend, a fruity cocktail, and maybe even the chance to find a little bit of joy again.

You sipped your Seas the Day, topped with a tiny paper anchor and an unnecessary but charming amount of fruit garnish—and let the flavors wash over your tongue. It was sweet, tangy, and almost too much, but it was exactly what you needed to cut through the weight that had been pressing down on your chest for weeks. And as Tony launched into another joke, punctuating each punchline with an easy laugh, you could feel that weight start to melt away, just a little bit.

“And then, get this,” Tony continued, eyes bright as they leaned closer, “the guy looks at the bartender and says, ‘You call that a shipwreck? Looks more like a dinghy disaster to me!’” 

You couldn't help but burst out laughing, the ridiculousness of the joke amplified by Tony’s delivery. It was silly, light, and the kind of humor that didn’t require you to overthink or analyze or worry—just laugh. And it felt good. The kind of good that had been missing for so long, you almost forgot what it felt like.

The stress that had been holding your shoulders tight seemed to leave with each sip of your drink, each joke that Tony threw your way. They were a natural storyteller, bringing every moment to life with wild hand gestures and exaggerated voices that made you forget where you were, who you were supposed to be missing. The bar around you blurred into background noise, a sea of laughter and warmth, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you were floating—untethered from the thoughts of regret, from the sadness of everything that happened with Spencer. 

It was nice, being around someone who didn’t ask for more, who didn’t know the messy, tangled history you were trying to leave behind. Tony’s company was easy, free from expectation. And as you laughed over their jokes and sipped your drink, you let yourself relax into it, letting the night carry you away to a place where your heart didn't feel so heavy. Even if it was just for tonight, it was enough.

You and Tony stumbled out of Brandy’s hours later, practically hanging off each other in a giggling mess. The night had been a perfect distraction, and you were grateful to Tony for every dumb joke, every ridiculous story. The cool night air hit your face, making you laugh even harder as you both swayed down the sidewalk, your head light from the drinks and the company. 

But your laughter stopped cold when you heard your name called out from behind you. You froze, your smile faltering as you turned your head to see Spencer and his team, clustered together on the sidewalk just a short way down. For a second, you just stared, feeling like the world had paused around you. It seemed you weren’t the only one searching for a new spot to drown out reality tonight. You could see the surprise etched on their faces—JJ, Emily, Derek, Penelope—and Spencer, whose eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart jump in your chest. You could practically feel the tension crackling between you, hanging heavy in the air like fog, and it made your stomach twist.

But Tony was blissfully unaware, their good mood carrying them right through the awkwardness as they spotted Penelope. “Penny!” Tony cheered, bounding over to give her a hug, their voice warm and full of excitement. “What are you doing here? Fancy running into you like this!”

Penelope’s expression softened at Tony’s hug, but you could see the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered between you, Tony, and Spencer. You followed Tony like a shadow, your smile fading into something tight and uncomfortable as you kept your eyes downcast, trailing behind and watching your feet move over the pavement. You couldn't look at Spencer, couldn’t face the way his expression would cut through you. So you just kept your focus on Tony’s shoes, willing the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Uh... hey, Tony,” Penelope greeted, a little off-kilter as she glanced over at Spencer, who hadn’t said a word, his face pale and unreadable. You could see her mind racing, torn between wanting to ask Tony about your supposed "date" and trying to protect Spencer from whatever mess was about to unfold. But sweet, tipsy Tony wasn’t picking up on any of it. They were still riding high on the night, blissfully unaware of the tense energy radiating around you all like a storm cloud about to burst.

“Have you guys met Y/N?” Tony asked excitedly, their arm waving in your direction, as if presenting you to a crowd for the first time. “She’s the best—totally fun to go out with. You all should come out with us next time!”

You wanted to sink into the pavement. Your eyes darted up just long enough to see the team's reactions—their hesitant smiles, the uncertainty, the surprise. And Spencer... Spencer just stared, his jaw tight, his eyes dark as they flickered between you and Tony, like he was trying to make sense of the scene in front of him, to piece together how you’d gone from loving him to laughing with someone else. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and all you could do was force a smile and nod along, pretending like this wasn’t the most awkward moment of your life, like you weren’t standing here, your whole heart laid bare and torn apart in front of the very people you’d tried so hard to avoid.

“Yeah, we know Y/N,” JJ said with a smile, trying to keep things light despite the thick tension in the air. She gave a small wave, her eyes soft and encouraging. “Hi.”

“Hey, guys,” you replied, your voice tight and strained, but you managed to look up for just a second, flashing a quick smile at the group. You could see the mix of emotions on their faces—Emily with her raised brow, JJ’s gentle attempt at normalcy, and Derek, his expression far harder to read.

Derek’s face was set in a hardened line as he studied you and Tony, clearly trying to piece together what was going on. “This a date, or something?” he asked bluntly, his tone skeptical as his eyes flicked from you to Spencer, who was standing stiffly to the side, now staring down at the ground.

Tony burst into laughter at that, the sound light and airy, cutting through the tension. “No! I asked Y/N on a date, but she said nooo,” they said, dragging out the word with a playful giggle. “We’re just friends. Really good friends, right?” They turned back to look at you, and their smile was so earnest, so kind, that you felt a small weight lift from your chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed, returning Tony's smile as best you could. “Really good friends.” You were grateful for their lightheartedness, the way they so easily cleared up the misunderstanding without any pressure, any drama. You could almost breathe again.

“Are you ready?” you asked, hoping to get away before the tension could bubble up again, before you had to look at Spencer and face whatever emotions were swirling in his eyes.

Tony nodded enthusiastically, linking their arm through yours as they tugged you gently away, back into the night, in search of a cab. You didn’t look back, even as you could feel the team's eyes burning into your back, the weight of their stares heavy on your shoulders.

As you disappeared around the corner, the team shared glances, murmurs of confusion and disbelief mixing in the cool air. “What the hell was that?” Emily finally said under her breath, crossing her arms and looking at Spencer, who hadn’t moved an inch since you walked away.

“Does anyone know what's going on with them?” JJ asked softly, her concern written plainly on her face as she glanced at each of her teammates.

But Spencer just shook his head, his jaw clenched tight as he stared after you, watching the space you’d disappeared into, as if willing you to come back, to explain, to make everything make sense again. But you were gone, leaving him standing there, alone and uncertain, with the words he wished he’d said still lodged in his throat.

Penelope spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence with a hesitant, thoughtful tone. “Tony told me he asked her out, so I guess it turned out to be a friend date,” she explained, trying to piece together what had happened with as much optimism as she could muster. But her eyes flickered to Spencer, full of concern and an almost desperate need to make things better. “But that’s good, right?” she asked, her voice a little higher than usual, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

Every pair of eyes turned to Spencer then, and he felt like he was shrinking under their intense stares. He could sense their silent questions, their confusion, and their concern, all boring into him like a spotlight. He didn’t know what to say, how to make it right—he just knew that something felt very wrong. 

Derek’s sigh broke the tension, and his hand landed heavily on Spencer’s shoulder, grounding him. “Listen, kid,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’ve been giving you your space about the breakup, but I think it’s time you talk about it.”

Spencer nodded slowly, knowing deep down that Derek was right. He had kept this locked up for too long, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, suffocating him. So, without another word, the five of them made their way into Brandy’s. They found a booth tucked into a quiet corner and ordered a pitcher of beer, the clinking of glasses and hum of the bar settling into the background as Spencer prepared to speak.

It all came spilling out—the truth, the messy, complicated story of what had really happened between you and him. How you’d started as casual hookups, how that grew into something more, how it was all tangled up in silences and unspoken feelings, until finally, you told him you loved him. And how he let you walk away. He felt the vulnerability of it, laying everything bare, every mistake, every regret, and the team’s reactions were a mix of shock, confusion, and sympathy.

“Why didn’t you tell her how you felt?” Penelope asked softly, her eyes wide and filled with empathy, trying to wrap her head around it all.

Spencer shrugged, staring down into his glass. He wished he could explain it better, wished he could pinpoint the exact moment he decided to let you go, but it was all so muddled now. “I guess I was mad at her,” he said, his voice small, and it hurt to say it out loud, to admit it.

“What for?” Emily asked, leaning in closer, her brows knitting together in concern and bewilderment.

Spencer looked up, meeting each of their eyes before letting his gaze drop back down to his hands, which JJ was now holding tightly, her thumbs rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. “She... she liked me—loved me—the whole time, or at least some of it, and didn’t tell me,” he admitted, the bitterness of those words tasting sour in his mouth. “I... I thought she just wanted sex, that she didn't care about me the way I cared about her. And then, she told me, and it felt like a lie, like... like she’d been hiding something from me all along.”

Penelope’s face softened in understanding, and JJ squeezed his hands tighter. “But, Spencer,” she said gently, “you were doing the same thing, weren’t you? Hiding how you felt?”

Spencer nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping as the weight of it all settled on him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess I was. And by the time she told me... I was too angry to see it for what it was. I let her walk away because... because I thought I had to protect myself. But I think I just... made everything worse.”

The team sat there in silence, absorbing Spencer’s words, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, of everything that had gone unspoken between you and him. It was Derek who finally broke the silence, his voice carrying a note of gentle insistence. “Well, you gotta tell her now,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

The others nodded in agreement, small hums of assent as they turned their eyes back to Spencer, a mixture of encouragement and urgency on their faces. Emily leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, and tried to lift the mood, offering a teasing suggestion. “Maybe take her coffee tomorrow,” she said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “She looked like a precursor to a hangover tonight.” 

The attempt at lightening the mood worked; the table filled with quiet giggles, the tension lifting just enough to let out a shared breath. Even Spencer cracked a smile, the knot in his chest loosening just a little as he let himself imagine it—showing up to see you, holding your favorite coffee in his hands like a peace offering, and finally saying all the things he’d held back for so long.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, the word coming out like a sigh of relief. “I was going to tell her, but then Tony asked her out, and I thought I lost my chance.” His smile faltered as he said it, that same feeling of panic creeping back in, that sinking sensation that he’d already missed his window and that any attempt to reach you would be too late, too little. 

“But Tony’s not a threat,” JJ chimed in gently, squeezing his hand again. “You heard them tonight—they’re just friends.”

“Besides, it doesn’t matter who else asks her out,” Derek said, his voice firm as he looked Spencer straight in the eyes. “What matters is how you feel. You love her, man. You gotta tell her that. Don’t let some hang-up stop you from getting what you really want.”

“Yeah, Reid,” Penelope added softly, her voice carrying that loving, encouraging tone that always managed to make him feel safe. “You two... you need to talk. Really talk.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a swell of determination rising within him, the first real sense of hope he’d felt in months. He knew they were right—he had to try. Even if it meant risking rejection, even if it meant being vulnerable in a way he’d never been before, he needed to tell you how he felt.  

So as he sat there, surrounded by his friends, Spencer began to plan how he would show you that he wanted more than just fleeting nights and tangled sheets—he wanted you. All of you. Everything.

—

You woke up to the unpleasant stickiness of dried drool on your face. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, parched from a night of laughter, late hours, and whatever concoction of sugary alcohol you’d downed at Brandy’s. But, thankfully, your half-drunk self had taken care of the essentials the night before, leaving a full water bottle by your bedside. You reached over, popped it open, and chugged gratefully, the water flooding your senses with relief as you rehydrated.

The hangover was mild, nothing too aggressive—it wasn’t like you’d drunk all that much. You knew deep down you’d mostly been drunk on the fun of the night, on Tony’s kindness, on the fleeting joy of having someone distract you from your thoughts, your heartache. It made waking up easier, even if your head throbbed a little when you sat up.

With a groan, you pulled yourself out of bed, the coolness of the floor grounding you as you stretched, taking your time to shake off the morning fog. You went through the familiar motions: washing your face, brushing your hair, and scrubbing your teeth.

You didn’t have any real plans for the day, just the usual routine of catching up on chores, maybe grabbing coffee later if you felt up for it. But today felt a little lighter, a little easier. And as you made your way into the kitchen, the morning sun spilling through the window and warming the floor beneath your feet, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this day wouldn’t be so hard after all.

But then a knock sounded from the front door of your apartment, startling you. You paused, trying to figure out who it could be. I don’t remember ordering any packages, you thought, and my neighbors barely know I exist. You waited a moment, hoping maybe whoever it was would just leave, but the knock came again—this time more persistent, the sound echoing through your quiet apartment.

You hated answering the door. Not because you were afraid of who might be there, but because you hated the possibility of small talk, the awkwardness of forced pleasantries, the interruptions to your peaceful solitude. It's one of the reasons you went into IT, the comfort of working with machines and problems that could be solved with logic, not conversation. So you stood there for another beat, hoping to hear the telltale sound of retreating footsteps. But there was nothing. Just silence, and then, annoyingly, another knock. 

“God,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes as you stomped toward the door. Whoever it was, they were persistent, and clearly weren’t getting the hint that you just wanted to be left alone.

You swung open the door, your frustration ready to spill over as you began to speak, “Hello—”

But the words caught in your throat the moment you saw who was standing there.

“Spencer?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, the shock hitting you like a splash of cold water. There he was, standing right in front of you, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see him, his face a mixture of hope, nerves, and something unreadable that made your stomach flip. He was holding two cups of coffee, and it felt surreal, like a scene pulled straight from a dream you hadn’t quite woken up from.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small, hesitant smile, and suddenly the world around you seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you standing there, the morning hanging heavy with words unspoken. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and something close to disbelief. You were still trying to process the fact that Spencer was standing in front of you, holding coffee like this was something normal—something that happened often.

Spencer shifted his weight nervously, glancing down at the two cups in his hands before looking back up at you, searching your face. “I—uh, I thought I’d bring you coffee,” he stammered, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. “To help with... the hangover?” He trailed off, looking at you with those wide, earnest eyes that made it impossible to be mad, even if you wanted to be.

You raised a brow, not quite sure what to make of this sudden gesture. But after a moment, you stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Okay,” you said, your voice softer now, and gestured for him to come in.

Spencer hesitated just for a second before walking in, and you watched as his eyes moved across the space, taking it all in. The apartment felt different now, seeing it in the daylight. The wide, almost floor-to-ceiling windows were uncovered, letting the morning light stream in and cast warm shadows on the walls. You’d always liked the way the plants scattered around the room bathed in the sunlight, their leaves turning vibrant shades of green, and the way the fabric of the couch gleamed just a bit in the soft light. But Spencer had never seen it like this. He’d only ever been here at night, when the only illumination was the dim glow of lamps and the city lights outside.

“Those are... nice windows,” he said suddenly, as if noticing them for the first time, his eyes lingering on the bright view of the landscape beyond. He sounded almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected your space to be like this—bright, open, comforting and calm.

“Thank you…” you replied, a little awkwardly, still trying to wrap your head around why Spencer was here, in your apartment, holding coffee and making small talk about windows. You took the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing his briefly, and felt that familiar warmth spread up your arm, making your chest feel tight. You wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the tension hanging between you. But you didn’t know where to start. 

You both stood there for a moment, as you searched each other's faces for answers. 

“How are you?” Spencer asked softly, and the simplicity of the question caught you off guard. It was the same question he’d asked months ago, the one that had started everything between you, the beginning of the friends-with-benefits arrangement that had rapidly spiraled. And now, hearing those words again felt like a punch to the gut, bringing all those memories rushing back to the surface.

You froze, trying to decide how to answer. There were a million things you wanted to say, a thousand ways to tell him how hard it had been, how much you missed him, how your heart ached every time you thought about him, and how you’d felt so stupid for letting yourself fall. But the words tangled in your throat, and you didn’t know which to pick.

“I’ve been... better,” you finally said, opting for honesty. What was the point in pretending, anyway? You’d already given up any sense of dignity around this man. You weren’t going to lie to him now, not after everything that had happened, not when he’d come all the way here.

Spencer's eyes softened, his expression turning pained at your words. He took a small step closer, like he wanted to reach out, but his hand hovered just inches from yours before he pulled it back, uncertainty clouding his face. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been... pretty awful, too.”

You looked down, the coffee cup warm in your hands, and nodded. “Yeah, well... that's what happens, I guess,” you mumbled. “When you... you know, ruin everything.” Your laugh came out bitter and hollow as you gestured at yourself, and you hated how raw and vulnerable you felt, like every emotion was sitting on the surface, ready to spill over.

“I don't think you ruined anything,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it made you want to cry. “Or at least... not beyond fixing.” Spencer's gaze was steady, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like he was really seeing you—like the walls you’d both built around yourselves were crumbling, leaving nothing but truth between you. 

You shook your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears from falling. “Then why are you here, Spencer?” You forced the words out, your voice trembling with every question you’d held back for so long. “Why now? What do you want from me?” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so broken, so defeated, but the way Spencer looked at you made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be strong anymore. Not with him. And it terrified you, how much you wanted to hear whatever he was going to say next.

“I just want you,” Spencer said, his voice plain and sure, like it was the simplest truth in the world. The words hung between you, raw and unadorned, and for a moment, you could barely breathe, barely process what he'd just said. 

Your eyes met his, searching for any hesitation, any sign that he might take it back—that this was just another moment you’d misread. But there was none. His eyes were steady, intent, and every part of him seemed to lean toward you as if he was ready to close the distance that had kept you apart for so long. 

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart pound painfully in your chest. “Spencer...” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. “But... you said you didn’t... I thought—” The excuses tumbled over themselves in your mind, but none of them could erase the way he was looking at you now, with all the longing and tenderness you’d ever wanted to let yourself see.

Spencer shook his head, taking that last step closer, his body just inches from yours, and this time, there was no hesitation, no fear in his touch. He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, and you felt the familiar warmth of his fingers against your skin. It was like everything else in the world faded away, leaving just the two of you, in this tiny pocket of time where all that mattered was what you both felt.

“I never got to say anything,” he said softly, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You left before I could.” His thumb stroked your cheek in a tender, slow rhythm, and the touch was so gentle, so careful, it made your heart ache.

“You asked if I wanted to keep having sex,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you forced yourself to look at him, to see the truth in his eyes. 

Spencer let out a breath, one that seemed to carry all the frustration and pain of the past few weeks. “You inferred that that’s what I was asking,” he corrected gently. “And maybe it was, in some way... I don’t know what I was going to say then. I was so conflicted, so... scared. Scared of wanting you, scared of losing you, scared of loving you. But... I’m not anymore,” he continued, and there was a steadiness to his voice now, a certainty that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. “I know what I want. I love you, Y/N.”

The words fell softly between you, but they felt like fireworks going off in your chest, like every broken piece inside you was being stitched back together by the way he said them. And as you stood there, his hand on your cheek, your lips parted in shock and your eyes filled with tears, you could see it—all the love, all the vulnerability, all the things he’d been too afraid to show you before.

Your breath hitched, and you placed your hand over his, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek as you let the truth of his words sink in. “You... you love me?” you asked, as if saying it aloud would make it more real, as if you needed to hear it again to believe that it was really happening. 

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he smiled, a small, fragile thing that grew more certain with every second. “I love you,” he repeated, each word clear and steady. “I have for a long time. And I want to be with you, not just... physically, not just as friends with benefits. I want all of it. I want you. Everything.”

You felt a sob building in your throat, but it wasn’t a sad sound—it was relief, joy, everything you’d been holding back crashing over you all at once. And as you leaned in, your lips finding his in a kiss that was soft, tender, and full of all the love that had gone unspoken between you for so long, you felt something fall into place, something that had been missing finally becoming whole.

The kiss deepened, becoming heated and urgent, both of you rediscovering the taste and feel of each other like it was the first time all over again. You could feel the way Spencer’s body leaned into yours, could feel how badly you both wanted to close every inch of space between you. And for a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your hands tangling in his hair, his arm winding around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

But then you pulled back, breaking the kiss with a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his as you tried to steady yourself. “Wait, wait,” you managed to say between breaths, “I don’t—don’t want to have sex. Not for a while.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, the confusion clear on his face, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the genuine concern there, the way he was listening to every word. “Okay,” he nodded slowly, voice gentle. “That’s okay, sweetheart. Can I... can I ask why?”

You let out a sigh, trying to find the right words. It was hard to say aloud, especially when the temptation to be with him physically was so strong, when every part of your body ached to feel close to him again. But this was important—this was different. “I just... I want to be with you,” you explained softly, meeting his eyes, wanting him to see how much you meant it. “And get to know you in every other way first. No rushing into things. I want... everything to feel right.”

And there it was—the truth that you’d been holding back for so long. That what you wanted with him wasn’t just fleeting, wasn’t just something that could be captured in a night. You wanted the full, messy, beautiful truth of being with Spencer—without the fear that it was only about the physical.

Spencer’s face softened, his confusion melting away into a wide, affectionate grin, one that filled his whole face with light and made your heart do that little flip it always did whenever he smiled like that. “I am completely on board with that,” he said, his voice full of warmth, no hesitation in his tone. “I’ll take all the time you need. And I’ll be here for all of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a surge of joy and relief bubble up in your chest as you wrapped your arms around him again. “Aye aye, captain,” you teased, and the two of you laughed together, the sound filling the quiet morning and making everything feel hopeful and new.

And as you held each other close, and stood together, just soaking in the moment, you knew that for the first time, you were going to do this right—take your time, learn every little thing about each other, and make it real. 

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[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 20

Prompt: Aphrodisiac Pairing: roommate!Wooyoung x fem!reader WC: 5.4k Summary: Someone needs to put a parental block on Wooyoung’s browser. Or cut his credit card. (A part 2 to Feb.Filth.Fest)

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Wooyoung or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: I would classify this as dubcon as TECHNICALLY the reader is under the influence unknowingly of said aphrodisiac. Everyone in this is having a good fun time and it is merely a catalyst but still, I feel that needs to be a warning itself. Additional warnings are: bodily fluids, so much unprotected fucking, lots of pet names and degrading names used both towards reader and wooyoung (most obnoxious is the amount I’ve chosen to use “Wooyoungie” so be warned). reader body parts described as fem, also addressed as “girl” a couple of times. Mostly just plain ol’ sloppy sex.

 Wooyoung barely peaks over the edge of his phone screen as he hears the slap of a bag against the coffee table.  “Jung Wooyoung-”  “OOoh using my full name today are we?”  “JUNG WOOYOUNG,” you start again, louder and angrier. “After last time you really think another bag of these godforsaken things was a smart investment to spend your refund on?”  Wooyoung fights the tug of a sly grin forming at the corners of his mouth. “What about that wasn’t a good time? You seemed to have a good time.”  Sucking your teeth you glare at him. “Something about walking in on my roommate coated in his own cum soaked boxers, babbling about how he was dying, left a sour impression on me. Could you imagine that?”  “Hot,” he gives into the grin, a small puff of a chuckled exhale escaping his nose.  You roll your eyes, “you’re a fucking gremlin. Get rid of them, in the trash or give them to your friends. I’d say get rid of them however you want but-” you see his eyes twinkle mischievously and you nod. “Exactly. So, trash or friends. Not food for Wooyoungie. Not again.”

 To his credit, the bag disappears the next day, almost as though it’s evaporated into thin air, and the whole threat of a repeat incident starts to slip your mind. It’s completely forgotten as you haphazardly plunder Wooyoung’s side of the cupboards looking for an afternoon snack. Several weeks of aspirational grocery shopping left your side of the cupboard bare of easy dopamine hits. So when the 4pm slump came around, each week it got harder and hard to fight. That’s how you found yourself digging through his stash of popcorn and gummies of all shapes and sours. A desperate measure for a desperate person. That’s when your fingers brush against a small twisted up bag of half melted gummies seemingly forgotten at the back of the stash. Surely Wooyoung had forgotten about them, the lump of coagulated colors meshing into a mystery kaleidoscope of flavor.

 You try to only eat a few but the way they’re melted together and their sweet fruity floral flavor you end up finishing the bag mindlessly. Which is only a problem for the theoretical goal of eating less sugar. Not a real problem, a pretend problem. Luckily it provides just the buzz of sugar and serotonin to propel you through the last hours of your day.

 As you type your toes tap. Must’ve been some preworkout gummies, jitters passing through you like caffeine. Your stomach twists but it’s just about 5pm and you’re almost done with your essay so you power through, blinking to force your focus. You can barely tell how you’re twisting in your seat, thighs plastered together as you start to sweat.

 When did it get so warm? You try to breathe deeply to release the tension in your chest. Why did it feel like you were going to explode, as though you’d forgotten to breathe? Mouth dry, your gut burns and twists. It’s almost like you need to use the bathroom, almost. But you’re so thirsty. There’s no way you need to use the bathroom, you’re parched.  The whole apartment smells like Wooyoung. Like warm soil and vanilla and musk. In your time as friends and apartment mates it’s grown comforting and safe. It’s like an easy spring day cuddled up to a lover. What you wouldn’t give for one of those now. Cuddling and pressing together, just cold enough that keeping as tight to each other as possible was the best way to fight the elements. How nice it would be to put your nose in the crook of Wooyoung’s collar and breathe him in, scent mixing into the wool.  No. No more of that. Your core aches in need. No more daydreaming, especially about that brat. None.  Chugging a glass of water in the kitchen you’re still insatiable, toes tapping against the linoleum anxiously. When would Wooyoung be home? Do you have time for a quick moment alone? You hadn’t had that sort of “me” time in a bit so maybe that would help. Without thinking too much of it your shove your hand in your pants, fingers gliding between your folds. You’re already soaking through your underwear as you rub against your clit. It takes maybe a minute before you’re leaning into the side of the counter, knees knocking together as you cum. It feels good but another would feel even better.

 The apartment smells like that day, or the aftermath of that day, as Wooyoung swings the door open. Floral with a raw musky edge pervading the air. The faint electrical buzz of something vibrating perking his ears.  “Wooyoung,” you whine, still hidden from his view. “Wooyoung you didn’t throw them out.”  Instead of going straight to you, to the living room, or even to his room, Wooyoung goes to the kitchen trash, an empty plastic bag sitting on the counter. “You’ve been raiding my snacks I see.”  “You didn’t throw them out,” you whine again, tone tilting up into a hushed gasp. “You told me you did!”

 Your face is stained with sweat and tears, slightly swollen lips from biting down on them. He’s sure you don’t even notice the subtle rocking motion your pelvis makes as your thighs rub together. But he notices.  “You look desperate,” he notes aloud, eyes flickering dangerously. “I must’ve looked worse.”  The cocky smile that you’d usually be so eager to strip from his face sends a shudder through your body. The fact is, he looks like he might eat you whole and you would’ve mind that in the least. Fucking betrayed by your cunt which throbs unapologetically at the passing thought. His eyes flicker again, a knowing flicker, as your cheeks burn. If your embarrassment could generate energy there would be enough to light a city block for a day. He knows. It’s only a matter of time now.  “Can you not be like this?” You whine, fingers gripping the edge of the couch. It’s closer now than ever as you lean forward, just a little bit more pressure. Just a little bit more.

 Wooyoung cocks his head, letting the motion lead him to turn on his heel and drift into the hallway. “Not sure what you mean.”  A fresh wave of arousal floods your thighs. Insolent brat. “You fucking know what I mean.”  “You’re right, I do, I do know exactly what you mean. I’m just waiting for you to say it.” He smiles that foxy grin again. You forcefully squeeze your eyelids shut, as if he couldn’t see you if you couldn’t see him. “Did you just cum? How many times have you?”  Shame burns your cheeks. “You don’t know that.”

 “We’ve fucked of course I know what you look like when you cum.” He sounds sickeningly proud of this. Proud of being one of the few and mighty to know.  “Pervert,” your nose wrinkles and you squeeze your eyelids tighter.  “Says the one who just made herself cum in the living room while her roommate stood there. You didn’t even ask if you could. If I’d even want you to. You needed to get off that badly didn’t you? I know. I know because I did it too. I remember.”  Despite having just cum, your heart is racing. Wiggling your toes you can feel the excess energy pouring off of you. It’s uncomfortably warm. This is your penance. You want to use Wooyoung’s thigh, muscular and sturdy. Just hump the shit out of it while he sucks hickeys in your chest. The thought consumes you, the memory of the sweet little hums of satisfaction he’d made as he-  “Wooyoung!” You yelp, eyes snapping open and brimming with tears. “You have to go. You have to, I can't control it. I really can’t. Wooyoung I can’t let this happen to us again.” You’re practically begging as you feel the knife of lust twist tighter in your gut. Folding over, you shift your legs just enough to provide pressure to your throbbing core, a moan of relief wracking your body. It’s pathetic, you’re pathetic.

 It takes only a couple strides for him to close the gap between himself and the couch. Again was all he’d been wishing for since that day. Wooyoung slips in behind you, propping your back against his chest as you sob. “Do you want me to help you out, I know how,” he suggests as his fingers trace the seam of your pants up your inner thigh. Your hips buck up with a whimper.  “No, I’m fine,” you sniff.  “No? You and I both know the quickest way to get this problem solved.”  His hands splay across the fronts of your thighs, inching slowly towards the hem of your shirt. A trickle of sweat beads at your brow. The room is too hot for this closeness. Too hot for how dressed you both are. You’re burning up in this embrace but you like it, you need it. He smells so much like him and only him. Even if you purchased a bottle of the same cologne you could never replicate it. Warm and comforting and earthy. Your head tips back to his shoulder as you follow your nose to the side of his neck subconsciously.  “You must be in a lot of pain,” he coos with an air of condescension. “I know you are because I remember. You probably don’t even realize how hard your ass is pressing into my cock but I can tell you, it’s enough to leave an impression.”  “Wooyoung,” you whine again huffing as you divert all your mental energy to stilling your hips. “It’s your fault! You can’t make fun of me. You can’t tell anyone. I-I-” your lower lip trembles, breathing hard. His hand barely ghosts over your lower belly and you shake, cumming unceremoniously the instant he brushes over your mound.  You can feel the mixture of his lips and teeth and the condensation of his breath as he whispers against your ear. “Someone was in my bed earlier. Now unless you let someone in and they took a nap, there’s really only one other person that could’ve been.” Slowly his nails catch on the ridges of the denim fabric, almost plucking like a string as he strokes the rest of the way up the seam.  Moaning you bury your face as deep as you can in the side of his neck, practically drooling as your head swims with his scent. It sinks into your stomach and satiates a bit of the hunger gnawing at your insides. “Sorry,” you bleat suddenly, half muffled by him. He can feel your thighs quake as you cum again.  “Can you tell me why you were in my bed? Or did you get lost on the way to yours?”  “Smelled so good. You smell so good. Had to. Had to while I- god damn it Wooyoung. You know. Of all people. You know!” Your throat tenses, voice cracking hideously. You had gone in his room. Into his bed. You’d put your nose right into the mattress with you ass up in the air as you’d finger fucked yourself to completion, all the while inhaling the unwashed unadulterated scent of your roommate. What was worse is that you’d never cum harder or felt better.  “I promise you it’s much easier if you give in. I know you like a fight but you’re about to shake your skin off the bones.”  You sniffle. You hate how right he is. You hate how much you want him to make you cum. You hate that you can’t just be relaxed and calm and collected and cool about it. Sometimes best friends fuck, it can be that simple. It’s not that simple though, you think as your entire body flashes hot and shakes in his arms. “Wooyoung,” you whine again, twisting to face him and straddling his lap. “Do you mean it?”  Tenderly he swipes your sweat matted hair from the sides of your face and kisses your cheek. He kisses everyone’s cheeks, you remind yourself before you let your heart flutter too hard at the small action. “I’m your best friend, babe. It would be my pleasure, whenever you’re ready.”  God damn it Wooyoung, you swear internally. You’d almost rather his almost combative side than the gentle care he is giving you now. It’s less dangerous to you. You can write that off easier. Both of your foreheads meet, his lips hang loosely open, somehow plumper when you’re looking down from on top of him. From here you can see the mole on his lower lip even clearer. “You don’t say shit about this to any of our friends,” you hiss in his ear, tugging his head back by his hair. You can’t afford for him to do anything unexpected. Not right now. “No one knows about this. None. Got it?”  He chuckles, adams apple bobbing in his neck. “Still fighting?” He looks delicious, smirking under you like this. You could eat him right up. “Even when you’re humping me like horny teenager, you still want to pretend like you have this all under control.” You look down, your hips betraying you as you grind on the growing lump in his pants. It’s not like you can feel much through the fabric of your jeans, it’s embarrassing that despite this you still do it. Wooyoung’s hands rest in the juncture of your hip and thigh, subtly encouraging the action with the slight press of his finger tips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”  You shudder, fingers flexing and tugging at his hair. His eyes roll back with a half pain half pleasure moan. He sounds just like you remember, like you’ve been trying not to remember. Flush with the heat of arousal, your eyes lock on his. “Help. It’s your fault, help me.”

 Strength surges in Wooyoung, lifting up from the couch, carrying you with your legs locked around his waist. The warm earthy vanilla smell grows as he walks down the hall into his bedroom, tossing you onto his already defiled bed, shoving aside the toys you’d forgotten in your lust induced haze. Closing your eyes, you ball the sheets in your hands and shove the scent soaked cotton into your face. The familiarity calms your raging libido just as you feel the weight of Wooyoung sinking into the mattress.

 “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” His fox-like eyes peek up at you from below. “Can’t believe you ate them all. ‘M not going to be able to cum as much as you can.” He tugs your jeans down from your hips, followed swiftly by your underwear, nearly completely soaked with sweat and release. He doesn’t give you enough time to become embarrassed, splayed out in front of him as you are. Propping your legs back further, his lips wrap over your slit, licking into you messily. The strong flick of his tongue has your legs shaking, cumming easily on his lips.  ‘So sensitive,’ he giggles, kissing the inside of your thigh.  “It’s your fault,” you slur, head lolled back into the mattress. “Fucking gummies.”  “Yeah that’s their point. Fucking.” He slurps at you again. “God you taste good.” Lick. “Thought you weren’t as messy as I was-” Slurp. “-but you’re dripping all the way down to your thighs.”  “Nooo,” you whine and cover your face in embarrassment, knees knocking into his head gently.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Wooyoung slurps again, this time his lips locking over the sensitive skin of your thigh and sucking a pink welt into it. A welt that only the two of you would ever see or know about. The thought excites him, erection pressed hard to the fabric of his underwear.  He’s eager and attentive and the sounds that fill the room are appropriately lewd to match. He drinks you like a man at an oasis, appreciatively humming, lips buzzing with sympathetic vibrations. Slipping two fingers into you, you cum again easily, just happy to have resistance to your spasms.  “Now just imagine if you’d left some for me,” he laughs, wiping his lips on the back of his arm. The tip of his nose glitters as do his eyes.  “You came so much last time,” you pant. His help has relieved some of the tension, or at least your hand wasn’t cramping. “-so full-so much-”  “You think you haven’t?” He laughs again, grabbing your waist and suddenly flipping you like a ragdoll. As if to make a point he pulls your hips up, dragging your front into the mattress, and pushes his full length in. You groan as the tip presses into your cervix snugly, his hips flush to the curve of your ass. His hands grip your ass, spreading you open as he slowly rolls his hips into you. “Cute little pussy seems to like me more than you do. Taking me in so nicely,” he says through gritted teeth.  Face mashed into the sheets you drool, the debauched position has you seeing stars. Almost helpless with your arms pinned below you and your ass in the air the wondrous fog of lust drapes over your inhibitions. “Cum, please, need-” you mutter, muffled by the blankets. “Need it, need you-” you chant over and over, tunneled in on the one request. Feel him cum, feel the warm release pulse and coat you inside.  “Yeah babe, I think you waited long enough for this,” he says, hands pressing into the small of your back as his hips snap faster. “I know you need it real bad. Gonna take it like a good slut for me?”  “Please.” Your earnest cries catch in the damp cotton. Blurry relief and endorphins wash over you as you clench around him. Desperate to milk him dry you slam yourself backwards. His rhythm catches and falters, fingers squishing into your flesh as he cums deep inside. The first splash of release feels euphoric, your legs giving up, leaving Wooyoung to hold your hips steady. He pulls back and rams deep again gasping and panting as he pushes himself even deeper, trying to mold you to his shape.

 Wooyoung lets you slip sideways onto the bed, cum dribbling down your thighs. “Does it feel better?” A warm towel presses to your sex.  Want burrows deep in your gut. Shamefully you remain silent. You want to tell him yes but you can’t. You need more. The craving burns worse than hunger or thirst. You hear the clink of ice cubes in a glass and open your eyes.  “You’ve lost a lot of water.” A statement of fact. Lost a lot of water to cumming. You sniff and sip the cool liquid. It doesn’t satiate you. Toes wiggling with anxious energy you try to focus on the feeling of the glass in your hand, the weight, the ridges.  “When can you go again?” Your voice sounds haunted and hoarse.  Wooyoung nods. “I thought you might- it’s gonna-” he hesitates as you rise from the sheets like a woman possessed.  “Can you just-can I just-” you start to pull him down into your arms, grinding down on his half hard cock. He winces and gasps,  “I really can’t yet babe. I promise, just a second,” kissing the side of your neck as he untangles himself and reaches over the side of the bed. “I got a friend to help with this predicament.” Like a rabbit from a magicians hat he pulls your wand vibrator up into the air. All white, large domed head tilted ever so slightly from years of usage. With a click the vibrator whirrs to life in his hand as he touches it to your mound.  You half groan half sob, “-but-need cum.” Your body shakes and thrashes as he presses more insistently. Your orgasm hurts as you clench down on nothing with a sob. Unnatural hunger claws at your chest and stomach, you feel blinded despite fully being able to see. Wave after wave crests over you as if it could overtake you but you’re parched enough to drink the ocean.  “God you look so beautiful fucked out like this,” Wooyoung watches your rapture with delight. Eyes rolling back you look like a renaissance era angel with your hair strewn out and mouth agape.  You barely breathe as you spasm below him, coming back from your experience gasping. “I need-fuck me-fuckme-please-Wooyoung,” oversensitive, you scramble backwards to get away from the whirring implement. A single click and silence fills the room, the only sound is the soft creak of the bedframe as he shuffles between your thighs.  Wooyoung holds the glass of water to your lips, “drink a little more for me.” Guiding the glass back he watches carefully as you sip down even the tiniest bit more. “Would it help if i took an ice cube in my mouth and trailed it down your body?  Dick in hand Wooyoung leans over you, feeding his length to your wanting walls. The aching empty is replaced by the comfort of fullness. It was meant to be like this. Just like this. Full of him in every way. His cock pushes his own seed from you as he thrusts, coating his length in a ring of bodily fluids.  “I want you to cum a couple more times for me, okay? Because I won’t be able to do as much as you.” The telltale buzz of your vibrator coming to life in his hand fills the void of sound. “Just let go.”  “But-cum-” you plead again like a broken record.  Long slow strokes bounce your hips back on his. “I know babe, I know,” his voice drips with false empathy. Lowering the buzzing head to your clit the shockwave is intense, your hips bucking upwards, fucking him deeper into you.  “Wooyoungie,” your voice shakes with your body. “Wooyoungie.”  Your back bows painfully as the top of your head presses into his mattress. You don’t have time to tell him further, to warn him. The euphoria you breach is like none other, your essence floods around him coating the both of you and the sheets. Wet and messy relief washes hot over you, melting what’s left of your mind.  Wooyoung’s eyes roll back, pinching his thigh to keep himself from spilling into you too soon. Even though you’d welcome it, you need it, selfishly he wants this to last. He wants to see you vulnerable and needy for him like he was for you.  To your credit, or your bodies credit, you work him like a pro, hips swiveling and grinding eagerly as you whine. “Wooyoungie please. Please I’ve been so good. Please it hurts so much. Please fill me. I need it. I need you.”  “Oh darling I love when you beg me,” he coos through gritted teeth, refusing to give in as you sob lightly. “You’ve got to work a little harder for it.”  “Wooyoung please, please,” you chant as you arch your hips up, trying to fuck yourself on him as best you can from below. Grunting and groaning in frustration. “It’s not fair,” you bemoan as he chuckles at you. “Can’t, from this angle,” you whine.  Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow at you, hips remaining stone still. “Are you gonna do something about it babe?”  With a huff you push him to his back, cock slipping from you as he settles in the bed. “You fucking asked for it. You asked for it, you dumb bastard.” You spit and swear as you settle back on his cock.  He hisses as he watching himself disappear between your thighs, your hands pressing into his chest as you sit on your throne. Claiming him. His head spins. “I didn’t ask for anything-oh shit.”  Your hips slam down on him with a vengeance. Grinding yourself on him, gasping and moaning as you use him like nothing more than a living dildo. “Loud mouth, only thing you’re good for is cum, not even-not even-shit-” you quickly lose your train of thought to another roll upwards of his hips. Bridging from his thighs he bounces you as your head rolls back, watching your breasts jiggle with the tug of gravity. You almost fall forward as he settles back down, furiously swiveling your hips back and forth over his lower abdomen. Gulping air you shudder and groan. “Going to fucking use you.”  “I like when you use me, pretty girl,” he laughs as his hands run up your front, thumb pressing between your lips. Salty and musky you lap and suck at what’s given to you as if it was your last meal.  “Seems your loud mouth is good for something.”  Carnal is the only way to describe the fire burning in your veins as Wooyoung’s hands travel your body with wonder. His hair halo’d around his head, veins in his neck protruding as he presses back into the pillow. Swearing and groping he tries to steady himself as his hips kick up, abs tensing.  “Gonna-oh shit-gonna-” he stutters. He can barely talk as he pulls all his focus to not cumming just yet. You’re so close, hips losing some coordination for the sake of speed, and he can’t let himself lose control before you do. Grunting in frustration he grits his teeth, grabbing your ass and steadying you over him. Biceps flexing and almost pinning you he grinds up into you, pressure building between his body and your clit. Your eyelids flutter and mouth falls. He’s doing a good job.  “Oh fuck-Woo-oh-” words catch in your throat, pulse dropping to your sex. The gentle pulsing squeeze of your walls draws your well earned reward from him. His release coats and spills out as you huddle over his chest, going in and out of consciousness, refractory shockwaves coursing through you.

 You wake first, his head rests on your soft stomach, bobbing with each inhalation. His hand is still intertwined with yours, both of you sticky from the day’s escapades. It must be well past dinner as your stomach churns with hunger. You have no concept of how you’d gotten here but likely in large part due to his care.  “Feelin’ be’er?” Wooyoung slurs, his thumb slightly stroking yours.  “Hungry,” you groan.  Wooyoung cackles, “it was a lot of energy, need fuel I’m sure.” His fingers escape yours, traveling the juncture of your hip and thigh. Everything still feels hazy but at least it’s quiet. “Are you settled? You good?”  He sounds almost hesitant, it tugs at your heart unexpectedly. You don’t really want it to be over but it is over. The burning subsided.  “I think I need-” you mutter sheepishly.  “-one more?” He finishes your statement with a question, perking his head up. “I think, maybe, I’m definitely running low but-” he babbles even as he’s pressing himself between your thighs. “If you need me to-”  “-if it’s really too much I can-” you start to babble back to him as his lips meeting your navel, leaving you squirming and gasping.  “-it really seems like you still might be dealing with some residual effects. You’re being too nice to me.” Wooyoung is already scooping his arms underneath your torso, hands wrapping up and over your shoulders as he pushes himself easily into you again. It feels like home, warm, cozy.  Eyes rolling back you sigh contentedly. The slip of the remnants of cum lessen the drag of his member but still the indescribable completeness leaves you breathless. Not much is said between you, deep unfettered groans escape muffled into eachothers shoulders. As frenetic and messy and animalistic as each previous session had been, this one was equally as tender.  Wooyoung’s loose lips want to spill confessions of love and desire. Fucking you as if the deeper he reached the more you’d be convinced of his love until his cock brushes your cervix.  You groan and curl below him.  “Too much?”  “Just stay a minute, let me,” you hook your legs over his and plant them into the mattress. Slowly you wind your hips, round and around. The gnawing hunger claims your gut again but this time, this time it isn’t a gummy or a drug pulling a trick. Eyes rolling back you groan again as you grind your clit against his pelvis.  “That’s my girl,” he murmurs almost as an afterthought. The words fall from him easily, unintentionally, and yet leave you gasping as you tip over the edge. Clawing at his back, unbothered by the potential to leave a mark. You almost hope you do, in case he was thinking of going out any time soon, so the next bitch knew someone had been there.  Panting he leans back and away from you, onto his haunches, hips still slowly and shallowly rocking into you. A smirk forms as he surveys the damage. “That good?”  “Cocky bastard.”  His smirk turns to a full foxy grin, “she’s back to the sane I see? I guess I should just-” he pauses before pulling back even more threatening to pull completely from you  Before you can stop yourself, you’re clambering up towards his chest, pawing at his shoulders with a small whine as you sit yourself back on his length. “You’re an ass.”  “You love me,” he says as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. God damn it he’s right, but you won’t admit that. Instead you reciprocate the bend of his head, burying your nose in his neck. Sitting in his lap and rocking with your limbs tangled it’s a different speed than your frantic needy drug induced fucking. More sliding and writhing. Wetter as well, sweat and spit and cum layered from previous rounds. Clingy and breathless. Falling and molding into each other as though two bodies could mesh into one if they simply tried hard enough.  Wooyoung litters your body with kisses for fear his unbusied lips will spill pillowtop confessions. His body aches from overstimulation but still his promise to take care of you drives him forward. The burn in his gut clenches his jaw as it sears down his legs. Slowly he works his mouth all the way down to your breast, arms cradled in the arch of your back as his tongue laves across your nipple. His cock throbs painfully as your walls clench in response.  Unaided by the magic of the gummies you start to break down yourself. Sex burning to the point of numbness you can barely summon the effort to even do the minimal rutting and rocking you have been.  “You can give me one more, right?” You groan out.  His hair tickles you as he nods a yes, lips tingling on you as he moans.  “You’re so so good Wooyoungie. You’ve been so good to me. Use me however you need.”  Wooyoung doesn’t need as much as he wants. Wants you to feel his love. He moves without a second prompting, tumbling the two of you backwards and hoisting your legs up into your chest. His hips pummel yours as he puts all his focus into chasing his high. You no longer whine or moan, you grunt with air forced out with each powerful thrust. The light behind your eyelids burns black as your head swims. Shaking in his grasp the constant squeeze of your desperate cunt spurs him forward. He has to cum. For you, he has to. Even through the searing pain in his inner thighs, you asked him to. He wants to. Lower lip jutting out in concentration, his mouth starts moving without his focus to stop it.  “Fuck, I love you,” he blurts, a weak dribble of cum splashing against your walls. Fingers digging into your ass and the side of your thighs, you can feel his length pulse as his brow furrows and gasps. “I love you so much, fuck. Hurts. God damn it,” he reiterates as he falls forward between your thighs, crushing you chest to chest. “I love you,” he continues to mumble, spit soaking into the pillow pressed to his mouth.  In a bleary haze you pat his shoulder mutely. How can he be so strong and so frail at the same time? Even as he whines and confesses his undying love, your heart swells. You need rest, you need a shower even more. The list grows in your mind as it defogs, listening to him until all that’s left is his slow steady breathing.

[musingsofahufflepuff]

Into the Blackhole

Theodore Nott x gn!reader; fluff

summary: when it all just gets too much, there’s one place you can always find theodore nott, a secluded corner on the second floor of the three broomsticks

a/n: hogmarch prompt 2. it’s apparently my goal to be the last submission for all of these, sorry @thatdammchickennugget (it’s technically still the 13th). i went with the butterbeer approach and this pure fluff. lots of friends to lovers in my submissions, whoops. guess the trope is on the brain

Bad week. That’s the only way you could describe your current mood. Between the long ass essay Snape had assigned with only 2 days to complete and the howler you’d received from your parents about something that wasn’t even a big deal you needed a break away from the castle.

So here you were on your way to the Three Broomsticks. The path to Hogsmeade is familiar and the fresh air is already starting to improve your mood. With the sun setting soon, there’s a comforting light casted on the village.

The old wooden doors to the pub creak when you open them and it’s relatively quiet for a Friday evening. You decide to make your way up to your usual table to relax a bit before getting a drink. At the top of the stairs you find Theodore Nott already sitting there. A smile spreads across your face.

He looks like his week was just as bad as yours as you slide into the seat next to him. His blue eyes look up to meet yours when you sit down and his expression is immediately softer. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter.

“Bad week?” you ask.

Theo sighs and nods, “why else would I be here. Assuming that’s why you’re here too.”

You laugh softly at that, he wasn’t wrong. Since your first trip to Hogsmeade third year, you and Theo had decided this was the best spot in the village to get away from everything. You’d spent many a night here with and without him, and you couldn’t help but feel glad he was with you this time.

“Want something? I was about to go get a drink when you came up,” he stands from the table, eyes still on you.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

He gives you a nod before heading down the stairs, leaving the seat empty and a hole in your heart.

So, maybe you had a small crush on your friend. Maybe.

♡ ♡ ♡

His footsteps returning pull you out of your thoughts. He sets a cold butterbeer down in from of you and you give him an appreciative smile.

“I know you don’t like warm drinks, as weird as that is,” he teases as he sits back down with his hot butterbeer in hand.

“I’m not arguing about this with you again, Nott,” you tease right back.

He holds his hands up in surrender, which makes you both laugh.

There’s a comfortable silence as you sip on your butterbeer and you steal a few glances at him.

“Wanna talk about it?” his voice surprises you, making you snap your attention to him.

“Just a rough week,” you blink a couple times, trying to think of what to say.

“Yeah, my fathers been, persistent in the whole… mark thing.” He looks down at his mug.

“Oh, Theo, I-“ without thinking about it, you get up and hug him.

He tenses up for a moment at the unexpected touch, but easily melts into your embrace. You don’t ask anything else, you don’t need to. He turns in his seat to make it easier to hug him, his strong arms coming up around your waist.

“Thank you tesorino. I guess I wanted to talk about it, but my friends…” he trails off and you immediately understand. They’ve gone through similar if not worse, it can be too much.

“I’m always here for you Teddy,” the nickname slips past your lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world and you try not to blush at the Italian term of endearment.

“I know you are and-“ he hesitates, “I think that’s why I’m falling in love with you.” The second half comes out quieter, like he’s scared of your response. “Actually, I’ve liked you for a long time.”

His blue eyes meet yours and it feels like it’s just the two of you here in the Three Broomsticks.

Just the two of you in all the universe.

He blushes, “sorry, not great timing on my part.”

“No!” you blurt out, “I’ve had a crush on you forever. Since we met first year.”

Theo looks a little shocked, but it’s quickly replaced with a smile and you melt.

“Wanna maybe turn this pity party into uh- a date maybe?”

You laugh softly, which makes him join you.

“Sure, I’d love nothing more.” You sit back down in your seat, in your and Theodore’s table and you can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face.

“But first, another butterbeer?” he smiles and you happily nod.

[halfwayhearted]

jobe bellingham fic where they are ex’s and reunite at like a get together or something idk you can choose that part, but maybe its like awkward and is perchance a hopeful ending! did any of that make sense. Lmk.

Over The Moon — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: You knew there was a high chance of seeing your ex. You just didn’t expect him to strike up a conversation that would lead to something you never thought would happen.

Word Count: 690+

Disclaimer/s — Nothing, I don’t think!

A/N: It’s barely awkward… Anyways, I actually need him baad.

‘Nervous’ was one word to describe how you felt.

Your friend’s birthday party was something you had been looking forward to for weeks. It’s just… well, seeing your ex. You knew your friend and he were friends. Just not this close. Not that it mattered! You weren’t here for him. You weren’t.

So, knock it off, would you? Okay, that’s beautiful.

Walking in, you greeted everyone, set your gift down, and made your way towards the cooler with the intention of grabbing a drink for yourself. That is, until you hear someone clear their throat from behind you. Oh, well, what the hell?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you lifted your head, instantly stiffening at the sight of him.

Jobe rubbed the back of his neck nervously when he asked, “Hey… can you, uh, get me a water?”

Without saying a word, you do as requested, grabbing what you came for along with his water. Standing up straighter, you held out your hand expectantly, and he took the water from your grasp, your fingers brushing against one another.

Oh! How great.

“Are you having fun?" The question left his lips before he could stop himself, making you hold in a laugh. Of course he’d make conversation.

“Yeah… I think,” you answered, “How about you?”

Seeing the smile threatening to break out on your face, he felt himself relax. “You hesitated.”

Averting your gaze, you shrugged, “Did I?”

It was so very awkward, obviously, as expected. How did two exes casually talk to each other after ending on mutual terms just five months ago?

It didn’t stop him from trying to continue, though!

“How’ve you been?” Jobe asked, his voice soft. He still used the same tone he always had when you were together, and it quite literally made you sick to your stomach. “How’s schooling?”

“Well, I’ve been good. It’s also been… good,” you cringed. “It’s stressful, but I’m managing. How’s football? Your brother? Oh! How’s your mom?”

“What, no ‘how am I’?” He teased, his smirk prominent, evidently showcasing his dimple.

A frown spread across your lips, “Hey! You—”

“I’m kidding! I’m just kidding. They’re fine, good even. My mom’s…” The boy trailed off, unsure if he should continue what he was going to say.

Spit it out, please. “Your mom’s what, Jobe?”

“She’s been missing you, your days out and all.”

You believed him. You missed her, too. Always. However, you couldn’t help but notice one thing that made your heart soar: the fact that he was so clearly flushed by that admission alone.

“What’s that in your voice?” You retorted, the frown on your face replaced by a shit-eating grin.

What! “What’s what in my voice?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Your mom misses me?”

“Yes! My mom misses you.” But he knew exactly what you were talking about, and there was absolutely no way he could deny your suspicions. Doing so would mean blatantly lying to your face.

And Jobe couldn’t bring himself to do that ever.

“I’ll text her,” a small pause, “Set a date up, hm?”

He meets your eyes, looking into you with such intensity that it made you want to look away.

Despite everything that had transpired between you, it was all in the past. And with the way he was gazing at you and the way you were gazing back at him, you couldn’t help but ask, “Would you want to come with us? Like… like old times.”

Now, it was his turn to smile. “Like old times?”

“Yeah. Yes, like old times. It’s been a while, no?”

“Huh, I suppose I can make room for you in my schedule, I’ll have to let you know. How’s that?”

A loud laugh left your lips at that, “Oh, whatever!”

Shortly after, he joined in, dipping his head and poking his tongue against the corner of his lips while answering your question with a quiet, “Yeah, that sounds good. Just—call or text me.”

“Okay,” you countered, unable to fight the blush that appeared on your face. Looking away, you took a deep breath and took a sip of your drink.

This could be the… restart of something good.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[icomeandg0]

“More than one” part 2!

Linked universe x reader (s) (Female)

Warnings: confusing.

A/N: I didn’t think the other post would get so much, thank you all<3

“She’s awake!”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

“An explanation is due.” Legends voice cuts through the silence earning a huff from Wild, “Can this wait until…later?”

“You can’t blame us for being curious, you did leave while we were sleeping—“

“And brought a girl with you!”

Sky and Wind chimed in, Wild wasn’t going to get a rest unless he told them, always on his arse he swears—

“Fine! I’ll tell” Wild clears his throat before sighing, “You see, she’s this girl from my era, she’s very important to me and she’s…one of the best things in my life and I plan on making sure she’s safe and by my side. Y/n L/n is her name and, goddesses if anything happens to her I would never forgive myself…” Wild says tenderly, he was very fond of you.

“Eugh, I asked for an explanation not a sappy, love story.” Legend takes his chance to tease Wild, “You’re the one that asked” Wild retaliates.

“Y/n huh? Must be a common name, I had a Y/n. She was certainly…Something.” Warriors voice grew a bit quiet as he looked off to the side, however no one really paid attention. “Yeah, I have a childhood best friend named Y/n” Four says, “Really? Me too!” Sky says, “The Y/n back at mine is such a sweetheart, city gal on the outside, country on the inside” Twilight spoke with a smile.

“Well I’ve got you all beat! My Y/n’s the best, she’s on of the best people I’ve met during my adventure!” Wind grins, “How about you, Hyrule? What about your Y/n?” Hyrule scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “Well, I never met a Y/n during my adventure so…can’t really comment”

“Jeez, if this Y/n girl makes all of you like this I hope I never meet a Y/n” Legend huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “How about you, old man?” Twilight asked, Time only sighed and opened his open eye. “I don’t see how this is relevant to our current situation therefore we must shut it down and focus on the subject.” Everyone went quiet after Time spoke, they all looked a bit ashamed but none the less changed the subject.

“Sheesh, must’ve been a harsh break up for Time…” Legend whispered over to Sky who felt remorse for the eldest hero.

“When she wakes up we’ll need to ask her a few questions, hopefully she can provide a few answers.” Time says earning a nod from Wild, “I’ll do the talking”

Soon their ears twitch as they hear shuffling coming from Hyrules tent. Soon it opens to reveal you inside, “Holy Hylia! I’ve been robbed—kidnapped too! Give my stuff back you thieves!” You point at the group in front of you, clearly you haven’t processed the fact that your Link was there.

“Y/n! You’re awake” Wild got up to his feet to help you up since you were on all fours which could re open the wound on your side.

“Link? What the hell are you doing here? Did you rob me?”

“No I didn’t rob you, nor did they—look just come. We need to talk, alone.” Wild looks at the boys, once he earned a nod he took you by the hand and led you away.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

“So what’s this all about—woah!” Wild immediately wrapped his arms around you, “oh by the three, I’ve missed you so much” Wild buried his head into your neck as you giggled softly and hugged him back.

“Heh, I’ve missed you too” Wild moves his head so he’s looking up to you now, “How did you get here?” “Crazy story really! You see…a portal sucked me in while I was out trying to find you a couple weeks ago.”

“Weeks? You were here for that long, alone?” “Nah! You see I have this really cool girl group I travel with and wanna know something? They’re all Y/n’s!” You exclaimed making Wilds eyes widen in astonishment.

“Really?” “Yeah! There’s TPY/n, HWY/n, OOTY/n, SSY/n, LAY/n, LOZY/n, FSY/n, WWY/n. Bit of a tongue twister but when you meet them they’ll greet you properly”

Wild felt a bit overwhelmed of the thought of meeting more Y/n’s but he nods either way, if the others say their Y/n’s were as lovely as they described then he’ll be fine! "Anyways, do you know this place? what about you tell me what happened before, you were unconscious and wounded when I found you"

"I was? Damn, let me try and remember..." You thought for a bit before speaking again, "We found a village nearby and it was called Agoir city, it must be the capital of this land because it has a massive castle. Me and the girls were shopping around like usual until WWY/n had to go ahead and steal something and get caught. Since we all looked the same they probably thought we were a thief family or something along those lines. OOTY/n told us all to split up so we wouldn't be taken, I ended up with TPY/n but those guards were quite literally right up our asses so we had to fight a few"

"I'm sure violence could've been avoided"

"Nope! but then they all attacked me so they landed a few blows and..I don't remember the rest" You finish explaining, Wild nods, "That was helpful information, really was. I'll tell the others but- There was this dragon that was...protecting you" "Oh...That's a relief she wasn't taken...Where is she? Is she back at the camp?" You asked, Wild shook his head. "We left her back where we found her-" "You did what?!"

Wild closes his mouth and looks at you with his blue eyes that were filled with confusion, "Okay...Okay, Link I need you to come back with me to see if she's still there, please." You hold your hand out which he takes with no hesitation, "Yeah, okay. Just gotta tell the others first." "Others?" "Yeah, You woke up in a rush you probably didn't process the fact that there were others back at camp." You sighed softly as he begins to pull you back to them all.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

"Oh woah! So you all are Links? That must be confusing...?" You tilt your head as you look at the lookalikes, you could tell the differences of each Link but being surrounded by them all is making you realise...This bitch is attractive in every universe, (Besides from Wind but he still a cutie.) "It did but we got our own names to call us by" They went around in a circle to introduce themselves, after Time introduced himself he opened his mouth once again.

"Is it true? that there are other Y/n's here?" Time asked a bit on edge, "Yup! Somewhere in Agoir city, I plan on taking Wild with me if that's alright with you" "No."

Wild gulped as Time's voice was stern but you didn't falter, "Well with all due respect, mister but I don't think that's something you have control over. I need Link to help me save my friends and considering it's his duty to do so I don't think it's very wise to intervene." You spoke, a hint of sassiness in your tone...most of the boys shared one thought.

'Yup, definitely a Y/n'

"I wasn't going to deny...I was going to say we were all going to come along too" Time finishes making you sheepish, "Sorry..." You scratch the back of your head and he only chuckles lightly before getting up, "C'mon boys, pack up everything so we can leave as soon as we can"

To be continued…

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

And that’s a wrap! Hope you all enjoyed, don’t worry next chapter is all about the Y/n’s I promise but if you don’t understand I’ll put down who’s who for the Y/n’s.

I’ll put up a poll later on today, but I hope you all enjoyed this.

Taglist?

@fantasyhopperhea

TPY/n = Twilights era

HWY/n = Warriors era

OOTY/n = Times era

SSY/n = Sky’s era

LAY/n = Legends era

BOTWY/n = Wilds era (who was in this story)

LOZY/n = Hyrules era

FSY/n = Fours era

WWY/n = winds era.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for putting a hit out on an ex friend’s dnd character?

A few years ago I [M 18] was the link between two different online friend circles along with my longtime friend A [M 22]. Essentially, both A and I ran two different dnd campaigns that acted as a melting pot between our two friend groups. It was really fun, super casual stuff. Enter C [M 19], who was originally one of my friends and played in both groups. Over time it became clear that C was, to put it lightly, not a great person. At the time, I was a really new DM and struggled a lot with my self confidence. C was a super disruptive player in my group, going off the rails and generally trying to undermine both me and other players. I tried to sort it out between sessions, but it didn’t end up working out. It came to a head where I ended up shutting down my campaign, claiming school got to be too much, but in reality I just couldn’t deal with C’s behaviour. It was a really big blow to my self confidence at the time.

At this point a lot of people had been cutting out C for various other things like this - generally being disrespectful and callous, not taking responsibility for harm he caused, etc. Pretty soon the only times I was interacting with C directly was during A’s campaign.

A, who wasn’t 100% aware of the situation, came and talked to me after a session one day about why I’d shut down my campaign, and I told him everything about how I was feeling. He was really understanding, and said that he got the feeling that I probably didn’t want C around anymore, and neither did he. I agreed, so A offered to ‘sort out some stuff with C’s character’ and shuffle him out of the group. I made a joke about wanting C’s character to die, in a pretty flippant way, and the conversation diverted.

This is where things get kind of weird.

So, at the time, I was expecting A to just talk with C and kick him out of the group in between sessions, but that didn’t end up happening. C was at the next session just as planned, and continued to show up for several weeks. During this time A, and I really don’t know how else to describe this, pulled some Machiavellian scheme on C’s character as the DM to ruin his life. A wove in this story where C’s character got this evil mask shard of a dead god, and played on C’s want to sabotage other players & go his own way in a very ‘lone rogue’ way to isolate him from the group and get him involved in all these evil deeds (killing minor npcs, etc). None of our characters knew about this in character, but A dropped all these hints and the context lined up to make it seem like C’s character was slowly going insane. C, unable to communicate in or out of character, backed up this idea by refusing to talk about the god IC or OOC. Eventually this god fragment lead to the death of C’s character when an overpowered assassin struck him down, in a fight that felt very ‘well this could’ve been a party boss but because you didn’t tell anyone, you died’. Immediately following this the party found out about C’s character’s evil deeds, meaning he wouldn’t be mourned by the party. The whole death felt so… hollow. It really felt like C had ended up in this situation because of their own hubris. But they hadn’t.

A had masterminded the whole thing. He’d given me live updates about his plan to essentially manufacture a situation where C’s character died a miserable death that felt totally deserved in the eyes of the other party members. And then we all just blocked C anyway???

I’ve never seen someone manipulate somebody like that in my life before and I’ve never seen anything like it again. I’ve never told anyone else in the group that the death was masterminded by A because of my petty grudge about my failed campaign. I don’t speak to either A or C now but I still feel bad about not doing something. Should I have just told A to kick C way before this?? I had no clue it would spiral into actual months of chess mastering his demise!!

What are these acronyms?

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 6

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, messy lesbian relationships/situationships, loser!ellie makes an appearance for 0.5 seconds, brief and indirection mention of marijuana, mentions of death, brief mention of reader's genitals (implies that reader has a vagina, but if you headcanon reader as a trans girl w/a penis, just pretend it's a metaphorical vagina, i fully encourage it), sexual speech and content (not fully smut but there are drops of it), depictions of nudity, minors do not interact

word count: 4.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Abigail Anderson. Pre-med student. Rugby star. A brief hook-up from freshman year. 

And now approaching your frozen figure at a rather fast pace. 

As your shocked face emerges from behind the football you're still holding in your hands, Abby begins to register who it was that she’d almost killed via pigskin. 

“Oh, shit!” She murmurs your name as her jog comes to a stop at your feet. “I’m so sorry, my friend Jordan was being a dick. I meant to catch that.” 

You let out a nervous chuckle as your trembling fingers lift the football up to her. 

“Oh, it’s okay. My life definitely flashed before my eyes, but I’m alright otherwise.” You give her a smile. 

She returns it with a crooked one of her own, her fingers softly brushing against yours as she takes the football from you. 

“Well, you still look alive and pretty,” Abby says, tucking the ball underneath an arm. “And those were some impressive reflexes, I gotta say.” 

“Just practicing in case of a zombie apocalypse.” You joke, cheeks burning ever so slightly at her calling you pretty. “We can’t all be built like Themysciran Amazons the way you are.” 

“Themy-what?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and chuckling. 

Your face erupts in flames in embarrassment from your geeky comic book reference. 

“Y-you know,” You stammer. “Like Wonder Woman. She’s from that island where it’s only women and they’re all these gorgeous, buff warriors who’ve renounced men.” 

Abby laugh. 

“Really? Well, thank you. You’re very cute for thinking I’m some hot warrior chick who’ll survive a zombie apocalypse.” 

Before you can respond, she continues. 

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much.” 

“Hey, I’ve been around.” You lie. You really haven’t been. “Probably haven’t noticed being an aspiring doctor and all.” 

“Still remember that, huh?” She smiles. 

“Of course.” You say, returning her smile. 

Freshman Year, Fall

You met Abby Anderson at the beginning of your freshman year when she was a sophomore. 

Being in a new and independent environment, you did what many single freshmen do upon first arriving: scoured the dating apps. 

Fresh out of a messy high school relationship, you came to college a little raw and emotionally vulnerable. You jumped into a casual relationship with a girl named Adriana within the first month of arriving on campus. After a drunken night of you and your roommate Tara recklessly swiping through your profile on a dating app, you somehow and hesitantly found yourself with a girlfriend after just two dates. 

The best word you would use to describe Adriana was nice. She was a pleasant person: brought you out on cute dates, paid for your food, always held your hand. You spent the two weeks of dating her trying to convince yourself that you were as into her as she was into you. But the further you tried to force attraction for her, the less interested you became. Then she introduced you to her friend, Abby Anderson. 

Abby was the kind of person that closeted gay girls would develop their first gay crush on at their initial glance. She was bold and exuded a sense of confidence & charisma that most 20-somethings haven’t achieved yet. People knew who she was when she walked around campus, whether personally or through reputation. Abby made friends quickly and kept them easily, so it was no shock that you got along very well with her when Adriana first introduced you. 

You pretended at the time not to notice the way Abby looked you up and down when first laying eyes on you. It was a quick glance and she pulled it off well enough that nobody else but you had caught it. You were amused by the way that Abby had held out her hand to you upon meeting. None of Adriana’s other friends had offered a handshake, and you chuckled quietly as you introduced yourself to her. 

Is she for real? A little prim and proper, you’d thought. You’d later find out it was merely her excuse to initiate physical contact. 

You’d originally come over to Adriana’s dorm to meet her friends, but you’d spent most of the time talking with Abby. She was very charming, keeping you engaged in conversation as if she’d known you for months already. She would ask you questions about yourself, seeming to be genuinely interested in your responses. It was effortless to keep up a banter with her, and she had you laughing in a way Adriana hadn’t been able to elicit from you herself. You weren’t fawning over Abby the way newly-discovered gays constantly were, but you were intrigued. By the end of the hang-out, you’d already exchanged numbers and socials. 

When Adriana amicably broke up with you a week later, saying that she felt as if “your heart didn’t seem quite into this” and “she’d like to see you comfortable” and “we honestly seem like we would vibe better as friends” over a phone call, you’d felt a wave of relief followed by a pang of guilt. You could tell that Adriana really didn’t feel any ill will towards you, but it did feel indecent that all you got out of the relationship was a mended heart as a result of the rebound. That, and a very interested Abby Anderson. 

It didn’t take a week since your split from Adriana that Abby was flirtatiously commenting under your Instagram posts or sending you at least ten snaps on Snapchat daily or messaging you borderline thirst traps accompanied by texts that were asking for your “opinion on her gym progress.” It was a mere five days since the break-up that you were dolling yourself up a bit to go hang out with Abby in her dorm room, just the two of you. 

Most of your friends playfully teased you about the position you’d placed yourself in. Hooking up with a recent ex’s friend seemed messy, but they encouraged you to put yourself out there all the same. Never having actually gone all the way with Adriana, they all hyped you up to hook up with Abby. All but one. 

“You’re judging me!” You said, lightly smacking Ellie’s arm. 

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at you. 

“I literally didn’t say anything, dude.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” You returned her eye roll with your own before jumping off your bed to walk towards your closet. 

“Just sounds like a guilty conscience to me.” She shrugged, leaning back onto your headboard. 

You sighed and said, “Should I feel guilty, though?” 

Ellie shrugged again nonchalantly before saying, “Not gonna tell you how to feel.” 

“I just want to know your opinion!” 

“It’s your love life, dude. It’s up to you, not me.” 

“I know that! But what do you think I should do?” 

“Make your own decisions.” She chuckled once more. 

You groaned, turning away from her to continue rifling through your closet. 

“You’re so fucking useless.” You complained, fingers weaving between hangers as you tried to select an outfit to see Abby later that day. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Ellie replied, resting the palms of her hands on the back of her head as she watched you. 

Despite yourself, you giggled quietly. As you continued to browse through your wardrobe, you felt Ellie’s ocean green eyes trailing your every movement. You kept your back turned to her, hiding the flames tickling your cheeks.  

You hadn’t bothered the rest of your friends about this the way you did Ellie. They’d all given their blessing for you to sleep with Abby, but Ellie? Ellie was persistent in remaining mysteriously neutral. She refused to voice any kind of personal bias. She didn’t seem disinterested, but she also withheld offering up her genuine opinion on your Abby situation. And for some reason, this bothered you. Something about her unhelpfulness compelled you to pester her about it. You knew you didn’t need Ellie’s approval. So why did it feel like you did?  

Ellie watched as you picked out a short dark blue dress, spreading it out on your bed next to her. She listened to you question yourself out loud on whether you should wear fishnet stockings underneath it or just go bare. She felt the way your fingers lingered when brushing softly against hers after she handed you your silver hoop earrings laying next to her on your bedside table. She inhaled your signature lavender scent as you slowly caressed your arms and legs up and down while applying your favourite lotion.

It felt so strange, prettying yourself up for another girl while Ellie sat on your bed and watched. She and you were just friends. You’ve never been anything more than that. Why did it feel strange, then? 

Are we though? Just friends? 

The way you’d stare at the way her big, calloused hands moved when she’d be rolling a joint or etching in her journal. The way she observed the exact manner your lips moved every time you spoke or laughed. The way you always noticed when she’d trace that intricate arm tattoo of hers when she’d get lost in thought. The way she watched exactly how your smile would often meet your soft eyes. 

Is this just friendship?

Ellie observed as you sat at your desk and carefully began applying your makeup, scooting towards the foot of your bed to better marvel at your technique. She’d begun to learn the routine you had by heart, mesmerized by how carefully and naturally your hands moved in a creative dance. She blurted out a compliment about how you were an artist for the way you did your makeup. You attempted to brush it off, but she insisted. You’re the artist here, she’d said. 

After finishing applying a shade of dark red lipstick, you gave yourself one last satisfied look in your mirror. You got up and began to shake your hair out of the bun it was in, walking to the foot of your bed where both your dress and Ellie waited. You looked at your chosen attire for the night and were suddenly hit with a predicament. 

“Umm, Ellie?” 

“What’s up, man?” 

“D-do you think you could help me with something?” 

“Uh… sure?” 

Your fingers fiddled with the bottom of your t-shirt. Your face flushed for what felt like the millionth time today. 

“C-can you help me put my dress on?” 

Ellie looked like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water right over her head. 

“What?” 

You scratched the back of your neck, a habit you’d picked up from her. 

“I forgot how t-tight this dress is, and I might fuck up my makeup if I just pull it on myself. Can you help me g-get it on?” 

Ellie’s face remained unreadable as she looked you up and down. 

“Yeah, okay.” She said finally. 

“T-thanks.” You said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. 

Normal friends do not get nervous when they ask their friends to help them get dressed. 

“Just…just one second.” You said, meekly holding a finger up before turning your back to her. 

As you profusely thanked past you for already putting on your desired underwear for tonight, you carefully peeled off your t-shirt and threw it to the side. Though you had your back to her, you could feel Ellie’s gaze land on the black lace bra you’d decided on earlier. When you shed your pajama shorts, her eyes then drifted onto the matching black lace panties that left very little to the imagination. 

She quickly averted her stare as you turned to face her, not fully meeting each other’s eyes. 

“Do you think you could—?” You gestured to your dress next to her on the bed. 

“Yeah.” She said, picking it up before approaching you. 

You watched her face as she lifted the dress above your head. Her tense fingers gripped the collar tightly as you raised your arms. You felt goosebumps form where her hands inadvertently brushed against your skin, lowering the dress onto your figure. As you fit your head and arms through, she pulled the dress all the way down to your thighs. You tugged your hair out from the collar and let it fall behind you when your eyes met hers. 

“Uhh,” She said awkwardly. “Your lipstick…” 

Your right hand flew up to your mouth. 

“Oh shit, did it smudge—?” 

“Yeah, a little, but it’s okay, I got it.” 

“Wh—“ 

Before you could react any further, Ellie licked her thumb and brought it to the edge of your bottom lip. It was as though your entire body was set on fire the exact second that you felt the wetness from her finger meet the corner of your mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed as she rubbed off the small streaks of smeared lipstick. You could have sworn she could hear how loud your heart was beating in the moment, feel the way it echoed through your entire body. You felt your mouth water as your eyes fell on her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Someone could easily sneak into your room right now and rob you blind, the way you both remained completely encaptured in this moment. 

“There,” Ellie whispered. “Got it.” 

Her thumb slowly drifted from your lip to your cheek, her hand suddenly caressing your face. You were frozen in place, trying not to combust as every cell in your body danced fervently. Her ocean green irises kept darting back and forth between your eyes and your crimson lips. Both your mouths were parted, the unsaid at the tip of both your tongues, waiting for whoever was bravest to let the truth drip out. 

But instead, after what felt like twenty-five years, Ellie let her hand drop from your face back to her side. She swallowed and cleared her throat, breaking eye contact with you to stare at the floor. You blinked and gulped, quickly plummeting back to reality. 

“Th-thanks, El.” 

“No problem, bro.” 

“Bro.” Ugh. Okay, Ellie. 

You were far less clothed a minute ago, and yet somehow you now were feeling much more naked than ever before. 

“I-I think I left the shoes I want across the hall in Sidney’s room. Give me a sec?” 

“Yeah, man. Go ahead.” 

You nodded and retreated quickly out the door. As you shut it behind you, you leaned against it and clutched at your chest with both hands. 

Oh god, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. What just happened? What the fuck. Fuck. 

Inside your room and unbeknownst to you, Ellie was leaning against her side of the door, quietly cursing to herself. 

“Did I really just fucking do that? What the fuck, oh my fucking god. God damn it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You blinked. 

“Yes! Sorry, just spaced out for a second.” 

You adjusted yourself under the covers to turn more towards Abby. Your previously glassy eyes met her concerned ones. 

“Was it that bad?” She joked. 

“No, oh my god, Abby,” You giggled, covering your face with your hands. “I think you getting me to cum twice in less than a minute speaks for itself.” 

Abby smirked. 

“Only twice? Wanna add a couple more to that?” She said, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you better. 

“I think my pussy needs a sec before you make her see heaven again.” You replied. 

“Mmm,” was all Abby said in reply, drinking in your naked figure in her bed. 

The rest of the evening seemed surreal. Ellie had watched you finish getting ready, remaining mostly quiet for the rest of the time. She didn’t touch you again, almost as if she was afraid to. She’d walked you partway to Abby’s building before giving the excuse that she had some client she needed to meet. Her signature Converse stormed off without a second glance back at you. As you waved her off, you thought about how she didn’t have anything on her to sell, and you both knew it. 

Throughout the entire night with Abby, though you allowed yourself to unwind and have some fun for once, your thoughts still continued to dance back incessantly to your auburn-haired friend. 

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Abby asked. 

“Just taking a minute and being impressed by you.” 

Abby laughed. 

“So not that bad, huh?” She joked. “But really. What’s up?” 

You pursed your lips. You liked Abby, but she did not need to know all about this “friendship” of yours with Ellie. 

“Not gonna lie,” You said, quickly coming up with a lie. “I was feeling really guilty before coming here tonight. Just cause Adriana’s your friend and we just broke up.” 

It wasn’t completely far from the truth. You were feeling guilty about seeing Abby after Adriana. But she wasn’t the lesbian who you couldn’t get out of your head all night. 

“Mm, that does make sense.” Abby replied, understanding. “It’s true, though. What I said earlier. Adriana did say it was okay.” 

Sometime after you’d arrived at Abby’s dorm and before you’d both dropped the pretense of you coming over just to “hang out,” Abby disclosed that she’d asked for Adriana’s permission to fool around with you already. You were a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. You did come here tonight with specific intentions, but it did relieve you to know that Adriana meant it when she’d expressed no ill will towards you. And it kindled a warmth in you that Abby’d gone into this prepared and still with the respect of her friend. 

“No, I know,” You said, the crease between your eyebrows crinkling as you thought up a quick lie. “I just… I still like Adriana as a person and I didn’t want my wandering vagina to get in the way of your friendship with her.” 

Abby suddenly guffawed, her laugh so infectious and genuine that it made you giggle in response. 

“D-did you just say ‘wandering vagina,’ oh my g—” She chortled. “Never heard that before.” 

You shrugged, smiling at how easily amused Abby has been turning out to be. 

“You say the strangest shit, you know?” Abby said, still chuckling. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” You replied, to which Abby smiled. 

“But really though,” Abby continued. “You don’t have to worry about me and Adriana. We’re still cool; nothing’s changed in our friendship. You both told me you weren’t serious, and she’s also just someone who’s never been possessive or jealous as a person. We’re all adults here, so no need to feel guilty. I promise.” 

“Yeah, that…that does help.” You said, hoping that answer would suffice for Abby. 

Abby seemed like she wanted to press more but decided against it. Instead, she grabbed your hips all of a sudden and lifted you up to place you on top of her, making you straddle her waist. 

“Wh—Abby!” You said, startled. Your arms instinctively flew up to cover your bare breasts, the bed covers no longer shrouding your nakedness. 

Abby chuckled, reaching up to your wrists and pulling them away from your chest. 

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you have such a serious thinking face on?” She said. 

A bashful look crossed your face as you stuttered a quiet “no” in response. 

Abby smirked, dropping your wrists and placing her hands on your waist, tracing up and down your inner thighs with her thumbs. Your breath hitched and you gulped, feeling yourself instinctively grind against her. 

“Well, you are.” She said. “And you’re cute, acting all shy about being naked in front of me like I wasn’t just knuckles deep inside you ten minutes ago.” 

You bit your lip, partly from embarrassment and partly because Abby’s tracing of your thighs turned into squeezing. 

“Y-you w-weren’t… knuckles-deep…” You stammered. 

Abby chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why the hell are you correcting me on how far inside of you I was anatomically?” She asked, extremely amused. 

“I don’t know!” You said, flustered and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist to keep you steady as she sat up to be at eye-level with you. With her free hand, she firmly gripped your chin between her large fingers and forced your eyes to meet hers. 

“You’re very easy to fluster, you know.” She whispered. 

“I-I—” was all that you could get out before Abby’s lips found yours. The sentence you’d meant to continue instead turned into a quiet shriek of surprise then into a lustful sigh that melted into the kiss. 

Not ten seconds later, Abby pulled away slightly, a cocky look on her face. 

“Any more anatomical complaints, then?” She murmured. 

“Not at all, Dr. Anderson.” You chuckled breathlessly. 

You jolted as Abby laughed again all of a sudden, grabbing both your shoulders for support. 

“Was it… that funny?” You chuckled, a little confused. 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Abby said. “It’s just that—my dad was Dr. Anderson.” 

“Your dad?” 

“Yeah, he was a doctor.” She explained. “Before he passed, he used to be a surgeon back when my family and I lived in Utah.” 

Shit, her dad. Of course. 

Abby had mentioned her father to you several times already. You didn’t know much about him other than the fact that Abby completely adored the man and that he had died when she was only 16. 

“Right, makes sense.” You said, wrapping your arms around her neck. 

Abby’s father didn’t seem like an off-limits topic with her. In fact, you were in awe of how at peace she was with it. She seemed happy to talk about her dad, somehow able to acknowledge his passing and yet speak of him as if he was always present in a way. She didn’t make it uncomfortable to ask about him, and you often had the impression that she actually preferred it when others didn’t fuss over it. So you made sure not to. 

“So no to calling you Dr. Anderson, then?” You asked. 

“Well, actually,” Abby embraced your waist and pulled you closer to her body. “Kind of studying to be a doctor. Like him.” 

“Wait, really?” You replied, a bit of shock in your voice. “How did I not know that?” 

“Don’t really know, pretty girl,” She replied, smirking. “Got too distracted by my washboard abs to notice?” 

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You scoffed, smiling and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled before leaning into your neck to leave trails of kisses. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re also very cute when you have a little bit of an attitude?” She asked, lifting her head up slightly in between kisses. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” You sighed, pulling her further into you and trying not to grind too eagerly against her once again. “Maybe once or twice. But why don’t you remind me, Dr. Anderson?” 

You heard Abby suddenly moan in your ear, almost growling, before you were suddenly thrown on your back onto the bed. Any words that meant to roll off your tongue were replaced instead with cries of pleasure as your knees were pried apart with Abby’s strong hands, her mouth finding ways to answer your question without words. 

Present Day 

“So still planning on becoming a surgeon, then?” You ask. 

“Starting med school immediately after I graduate this year.” Abby replies. 

“Wow,” You say, impressed. “That’s really soon. Are you nervous about it?” 

“Hmm, not nervous, exactly,” Abby replies, thinking. “I grew up around doctor shit, so I have a tiny idea of what I’m facing. I’m choosing to stay positive about it all for now.” 

“Commendable,” You smile. “How the hell have you been surviving all your pre-med shit with sports and all?” 

“Hey,” She says, shrugging. “You said it yourself. I’m basically a superhero.” 

You chuckle. You’ve forgotten just how confident Abby is and how attractive it was to see it in action. 

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” 

“You know, maybe if I really was Wonder Woman, I could attend my next class and get a coffee with you right now. If you’re not busy, that is.” 

“That is not how Wonder Woman works, Abby.” You say, giggling. 

“Oh, whatever.” Abby laughs, rolling her eyes. “Forgot just how much of a nerd you were, pretty girl.” 

“Hey—” You start. 

“YO ABS, are you gonna throw that shit back or keep flirting with hot chicks?!” A voice behind Abby calls. 

Abby grunts in annoyance, turning around to face her friend Jordan who was several feet away from where you both were. 

“Stop throwing like a little bitch and we wouldn’t be having this problem, dumbass!” She calls back at him, to which he replies with a playful, “Oh, fuck off!”

You watch as Abby draws back, arms flexing as she throws the football in a quick, perfect spiral towards Jordan. He catches it, but not before it makes a loud thud against his chest. 

“OW, FUCK—" He shouts in pain. 

“Dumbass!” She hollers in response. 

You're both chuckling when she turns back to face you. 

“Need to go?” You ask. 

“Didn’t you hear? I’m busy flirting with hot chicks. Well, just one hot chick.” 

Your purse your lips, sheepish. 

“So,” She said. “Coffee?” 

“Abby, you just said you had a class to get to in a bit. Also,” You gesture to your mostly-empty coffee cup still next to you in the grass. “Beat you to the punch.” 

“Ah, fuck.” 

“Sorry,” You chuckle. “I’ve also got class in,” You checked your phone for the time. “Around five minutes or so.” 

“Wow, you really wanna avoid getting a coffee with me that bad, huh?” 

“Oh, absolutely. I premeditatedly mapped out my entire class schedule this semester just so I didn’t have to hang out with you right at this moment.” You joke. 

“I knew it.” 

You laugh. 

“Can I at least walk you to class, though?” Abby asks. 

“Sure,” You replies. “But what about your class?” 

“Got a bit of time; don’t worry about it.” 

You smile before you gather your things together quickly. You reach for your coffee cup but it disappears suddenly before your hand is even inches from it.  

“Abby!” You exclaim, jumping up onto your feet as you quickly pull your backpack on. 

“What?” She questions, walking backwards while still facing you to throw your coffee cup away in a nearby trash can. 

“I can’t throw away my own trash?” 

“Just being helpful.” She says, shrugging. 

“You can’t be both a superhero and some chivalrous lesbian knight.” 

“I can do whatever I want, pretty girl.” 

You feel your face getting hot once more. 

“So,” She starts. “Which way is your next class?” She begins walking in the wrong direction. 

“About twenty feet east of where you’re heading, silly.” 

“Oh, uhh…” Abby stops in her tracks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while processing your directions. 

You laugh and roll your eyes, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the building your next class was in. 

“Straley Hall, right in front of you, dummy. Remind me never to travel across the country with you.” You say. 

“What kind of nerd actually says ‘east’ when giving directions!” She complains. 

“That’s a perfectly normal thing to say!” 

“Why are the cutest girls always the weirdest ones?” Abby says, shaking her head. 

You looked away from her, trying to hide your embarrassed smile. 

“How are you supposed to save people’s lives when you don’t even understand simple directions, Dr. Anderson?” 

She smirks at your comment and her lips form to reply with a retort of their own. 

Just a few feet down the brick college road, Ellie stands frozen on the spot. Her hands are balled up in fists and her jaw is clenched. Her ocean green eyes trail after your unknowing figure, fixating on the wide smile on your lips as you let out peals of genuine laughter and your fingers still gently caressing the bicep of golden girl and star athlete, Abigail Anderson.

author's notes:

HAHAHAHA "in case of a zombie apocalypse" get it, cause the game is set in a zomb—yeah y'all get it (sorry not really)

let's all take a brief sexy second together and imagine abby as amazon from themyscira... now let's all let out the collective horny sigh together.

thank you all for being so patient waiting for this one. life has been... yeah (if you've been keeping up with the personal stuff I've said on my blog the last week, that should add more context to what a shit my life has been recently). i've been having to push myself with writing lately cause i feel like i'm getting too into my head about it. but thank y'all so much for being supportive and all, thank you for not giving up on me!

not gonna lie, loves. i may have gotten extremely horny writing certain scenes in this and had to take multiple breaks because my mind was concocting too many distracting scenarios as a result (the ellie scene took me days to get through to write, i'm so dead serious, and the smut-adjacent abby scene almost turned into a full-fledged smut scene cause i'm such a fucking lesbian, oops, i genuinely had to restrain myself so i could write the story the way i actually have it planned out).

abby having no sense of direction at the end of the chapter is just a personal reference to me when i played tlou2 for the first time and when i was playing as abby at the very start when she's mad at owen for getting mel pregnant and trying to go after joel on her own, i got lost for like 10 minutes just going in circles in the fucking woods and snow like a moron. just wanted to be a little bit silly by creating no sense of direction!abby hehe

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @ximtiredx, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor | Extra Credits 02

Extra Credits 02: FRENCH

Series masterlist

Prev: Lesson 1: Female Anatomy | Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills Next: Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Series summary: Eddie’s failing Biology class, so you decide to offer two different styles of tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

Chapter summary: You give Eddie a French lesson.

WC: 2.9k

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI! This part isn't explicit, but the rest of the series is, so MDNI!! Fluff, kissing, mentions of arousal.

A/N: This takes place between Extra Credit 1 and Lesson 3. It’s an added extra to The Biology Tutor series.

My masterlist

Despite your best efforts to keep things cool, you and Eddie’s relationship at school has shifted.

Eddie will greet you with a cheery, “Heeey, Princess”, whenever you pass in the corridors, and you’ll sometimes give him a cheeky wave in the lunchroom. You both flush a little whenever your eyes lock, thinking about all the intimate stuff you’ve done together over the past days and weeks.

Thankfully, as yet none of your friends have noticed the way you’ve started to giggle a little more loudly at Eddie’s antics on the lunch tables, or the way he shoots you cheeky glances to check that you’re watching. Each of your social groups would likely have something disparaging to say, and you’d prefer to avoid that kind of attention for the time being.

You’ve become even more aware of your physical proximity in Biology class. Even though you could probably reach out and touch each other (and you would really, really like to do that…) you try not to draw too much attention to yourselves.

You’re finding it hard to keep your focus on the front, knowing that Eddie’s sitting inches away behind you. But you revel in the fact that he’s there at all (and is, in all likelihood, checking out your ass).

At the end of class, Mr Clarke calls you over.

“I wanted to thank you for your efforts regarding the private tutoring. Mr Munson’s work has certainly improved since you began, as has his class attendance, which is remarkable in and of itself. And he seems to have become more enthusiastic about the human biology aspect of the syllabus too, which is… unexpected, but really good to see.”

He looks off to one side, momentarily bemused, but recovers quickly and continues,

“Nevertheless, there is a big test coming up which, as you know, makes up a sizable proportion of your grade. I would very much like to see Mr Munson do well. I was hoping that you might help him prepare, and in the hopes that you’d agree, I’ve already booked private study room 2C in the library specifically for this purpose.”

You know the library well, and the one he’s describing is a particularly quiet one, located at the back of the rarely-used reference section. If you can get Eddie to join you, it’ll be the first time you’ve ever been alone with him at school. You experience a frisson of excitement at the thought.

You readily agree, figuring that even if that wasn’t reason enough, getting further in the good graces of Mr Clarke wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. However, you do think convincing Eddie to relinquish his entire lunchtime might be another matter entirely.

You approach him in the lunchroom, managing to get to him before his usual table fills up with nerds. He was initially aghast that you were anywhere near him, but once he realised nobody was really interested he listened to your proposal.

“You seriously do this shit voluntarily?” is his only response, until you mention, more quietly, how it would mean spending an entire hour in a small, isolated room. With you. Alone.

Suddenly, he’s all for it, packing up his stuff as you exit ahead of him. He extols the virtues of ‘accepting with grace the assistance the universe offers you’ to the smattering of confused Hellfire boys before hightailing it out of the hall, stuffing pretzels into his mouth as he goes.

You reach the study room first, and are already setting out books and pencils as Eddie barrels in. He practically skids to a halt, and ambles towards you, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to act nonchalant.

“Hey, Princess.”

He plops his bag onto the tabletop, and as he gestures to the empty seats next to you and across the table, he drops his voice to a lower timbre as he asks you,

“So, uh, where do you want me?”

Thanks to his mildly suggestive question, an image flashes across your mind of perching him, naked, on the edge of the table and climbing atop him, but you quickly shake it.

You tap your hand on the seat next to you, and he enthusiastically flops himself down in it. He sits up straight, clasping his hands in his lap, theatrically attentive.

As he’s already managed to fluster you, you decide to fluster him right back.

“You’re so good at doing what I tell you, Eddie. I like that.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink and he swallows hard. It worked.

It doesn't take long for you to go over the test questions. Eddie’s picked up more than he’d thought from the parts of your sessions where you’d actually studied, and he flies through most of it, only getting stuck on a couple of gnarly chemistry formulae. What’s more, he actually looks like he’s having fun, gaining genuine satisfaction from answering your questions correctly and beaming as you let him know,

“That’s it, Eddie! You’ve got it!”

You can’t tell whether it’s the academic achievement, or the broad smiles and encouragement that you’re giving him, that’s his biggest driver, but at this point you’ll take either as a win.

You've gradually started sitting closer as the session has gone on. You’ve scootched to the edges of your seats, and your elbows and knees are gently knocking together. You can feel Eddie’s breath on your cheek as he jabs at his test total on your pad, screwing up his face and making a fist with his other hand in triumph. You’re genuinely thrilled for him, and not just because the very idea that you could be the reason for those gorgeous dimples popping makes your tummy flip.

Checking your watch, you realise you have a few minutes left before you have to leave, and there’s another new ‘skill’ that you’ve been thinking about trying with him.

Once all your supplies are back in your bag, you check the time again before asking,

“Eddie, would you like to try another quick practical session?”

He looks around the room, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs.

“What, here? Now?”

“Yes, but not like our, um, previous sessions. Something less… involved.”

“Okay, but what is it?”

“Eddie, I hope you don’t mind me asking you this, but have you ever kissed anyone?”

He looks a little abashed as he answers,

“Umm, does kissing your relatives on the cheek count?”

You can’t help smiling at his cute admission.

“For the purposes of this discussion, I’m gonna say no.”

He looks self-conscious, maybe even a little ashamed. Staring at the edge of the table, he clears his throat before replying,

“Then, uh, no.”

Not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, you reassure him,

“That’s okay, Eddie. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

After a beat, you continue,

“Would you like to try it? With me?”

“What?”

“Would you like for us to kiss, Eddie?”

His eyes become locked on your mouth. He swallows audibly, eyes shining with want.

“Umm, yeah. Yes. Yes, I absolutely would, Princess.”

“Just so I know how far you want to go, would you like us to… French kiss?“

“You mean… W- with, y’know, tongue?”

“Yes, Eddie. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Are you okay with that? I mean, you don’t have to…”

Shaking your head a little, you reassure him,

“I’m the one who suggested it, Eddie!”

He looks down at his hands, now clasped again as he rubs his thumbs together.

“Only if you’re sure. I might be awful at it.”

“Well, that’s why we practice, right? So, first of all, we need to get a little closer…”

You turn your seat so you’re facing him directly, encouraging him to do the same. You pull your seat forwards, slotting your knees between his. You see his eyes scanning your face, and his fingers fidget, suggesting he’s not really sure what to do with them.

“You can rest your hands on my legs if you’d like, Eddie.”

He does so, but not without a little trepidation, and you see him swallow again.

“Just relax. I’m not gonna bite you. Not this time, anyway.”

You give him what you hope is a cheeky smirk. He smiles shyly, not sure where to look when you’re this close to him. Nervously, he licks his lips. The sight makes your thighs clench.

“Close your eyes and relax, Eddie. I’m gonna start with a quick peck.”

“O- okaaaay.”

He does as you ask, and you spend a few moments appraising him before you lean into his space. He looks angelic, his wild curls framing his pretty face and his rosy pink lips looking soft and inviting.

You turn your head slightly so your nose will slide past his, close your eyes, and ever so slowly connect your lips with his. Pursing them a little, you press forwards, and you hear a slight intake of breath.

You said it was going to be quick, but you’re enjoying the feeling so much you relish in it for a few moments. Eddie’s lips are plump, warm, and just a little moist from where he’s licked them. A tiny amount of stubble tickles your top lip. He smells of old leather, some kind of spicy cologne and vanilla chapstick, with a hint of cigarettes and weed. It’s a heady scent you could easily get lost in.

Gathering yourself, you pull back, rolling your lips inwards to taste him.

Eddie still has his eyes closed. If you’re honest he looks like he’s about to faint. Even after all you’ve done together you’re still a little nervous, and you’re suddenly mortified that he found it repulsive.

You did remember to brush your teeth this morning, didn’t you? Did you eat garlic last night and forget? Do you have spinach in your teeth, even though you definitely haven’t eaten spinach in weeks??

“H- how was that, Eddie? Did you like it?”

Suddenly, his eyes pop open. His lips part a little and he nods his head quickly, causing his chestnut locks to bounce around his face. He stares at you for a few more moments before he manages to say in a tiny, cracking voice,

“More? Please?”

You smile widely, and lean in again.

This time you move a little, pursing and softening your lips, changing their position slightly to find out what he likes, slotting them in different places.

To your surprise, this time Eddie starts to kiss you back. His plump lips press against yours and the tiniest moan emanates from his chest. He’s tentative at first, but as he gains in confidence he presses a little harder, and moves a little more.

Your lips move in sync as you rhythmically purse and relax them.

Eddie exhales heavily, and more than a little shakily, through his nose, and you feel his warm breath dance across your face and décolletage.

You part from him with a subtle wet smack.

He swallows thickly, and the grip on your knees strengthens.

You smile at him again, and his eyes flick between yours as he mirrors your expression.

“Okay Eddie, if you’re ready, this time I’m gonna use my tongue. You don’t have to do anything, but if you want to, just do what feels good. Alright?”

Eddie gives you another tiny, fast nod, and you feel him squeeze your knees again.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready…”

He surprises you again as he shifts his hands slightly and slides them up your thighs, leaning into your space a little further. They feel warm, strong, and you can’t help but imagine how they might feel elsewhere.

What would it be like to hold his hand properly? Would his hand feel warm as it cupped your face? Would you be able to feel his rings? How would his calloused fingers feel running up your back, or across your…?

You’re broken from your thoughts as he closes his eyes again, a slight curl to his lips as he lets you know he’s ready.

You lean into his space again, and connect your lips as before. This time, you part your lips slightly and allow the tip of your tongue to poke out, and ever so gently brush across his lower lip. You hear that sharp intake of breath again as he stills, unsure of what he’s supposed to do, but then he parts his lips ever so slightly, and you slide your tongue past his lips and pearly teeth and into his mouth. You move it slowly, enjoying the feeling of his lips against it, the scrape of his teeth, the softness of his tongue beneath yours.

He moans again, and just as your tongue curls up to tickle the roof of his mouth suddenly his tongue is moving against yours, slowly, reverently, experimentally, and another moan leaves his chest.

His grip on your thighs tightens as he gets bolder, eventually pushing his tongue past your lips and into your mouth.

Abruptly, he turns his head slightly and pushes in more deeply, his tongue almost filling you. He’s insistent yet gentle, and now it’s your turn to gasp - he’s good at this - and a low whine leaves you.

You feel a chill on your legs as Eddie’s hands leave them, and you’re momentarily disappointed, but this rapidly turns into delighted surprise when one comes up to cup the back of your neck, the other grabbing the edge of your chair and pulling you closer towards him. He’s moaning continually now, turning his head to try different angles, licking and curling and sucking like you’re the very air he needs to breathe.

He’s pushing hard but not too hard, and when your teeth knock it’s adorable rather than uncomfortable.

It’s wet and messy, and oh, so fucking hot.

Your hands start travelling almost of their own accord, slipping up inside his jacket, sliding around his rib cage and settling on his surprisingly muscular back.

His hand travels up to your hair, mussing it, and you’re making his shirt ride up, but you couldn’t care less, lost in the sensations of your lips melding and tongues dancing.

There’s a pulsing heat in your core, and a wetness building in your underwear. You don’t think you've ever been this turned on just from kissing.

And how on Earth is Eddie so good at it?

You eventually both pull back, needing air, breathy and inhaling deeply.

Your eyes dance around his face, wanting to take it all in. His plump, kiss-bitten lips, his blown pupils, the way he’s looking at you with a stunned half-smile.

Needing a break from the intensity, you drop your eyes. But almost wish you hadn’t when you spot the obvious bulge in the front of Eddie’s pants.

He’s clearly enjoyed this as much as you have.

Just as you’re both leaning forward for another round, lips just brushing, the harsh and loud ringing of the school bell indicates the start of afternoon classes.

You and Eddie break apart with a start, exchanging breathy smiles, both a little surprised at how well that went.

He chuckles as he lets go of your hair, tidying it as best he can, and you pull down the hem of his shirt to straighten it.

”So, uh, I think I’d consider that lesson a success. Wouldn’t you, Mr Munson?”

He huffs out a little giggle, shaking his head slowly. His brow furrows and he fixes his face into as serious an expression as he can manage, as he dips his chin and replies,

“Oh, Princess, that feels like a great start. But you know, lessons work with me. So, just to be on the safe side, I think I might need a whole lot, lot more practice...”

He’s holding your gaze and nodding, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips for emphasis.

You nearly snort at his brazenness, constantly amazed at how he so easily flips between abject fear and bolshy confidence, and manage to squeak out,

“Well, we’ll just have to see what we can arrange, won’t we?”

He grins at you again, those dimples even deeper this time, and tidies one more strand of hair at your temple.

Reluctantly, you both gather your things and leave the study room, still with shiny lips and heat in your cheeks.

You walk leisurely, your upper arms brushing, through the racks of dusty tomes. Neither of you is in any particular hurry to get to your next class.

You glance to your side, and notice that Eddie seems bigger, taller. He’s puffing his chest and is carrying himself a little differently. You like it.

He turns to you as he asks, “D’you think we should, y’know, leave separately or whatever?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Awkward questions, and all that.”

You see Eddie’s eyes glance to the floor, then flit to the section containing the large encyclopaedias and dictionaries, before he adds,

“You know what, you go first. There’s something I want to check out in the reference section anyway…”

He flashes you a wink as you round the door jamb, causing something to revolve in your chest as you step out into the corridor. You definitely want to offer Eddie plenty of opportunities to practice this particular new skill.

As you head off to your next class, you wonder what on earth he could be up to. But more than that, you wonder how he’ll react to what you have in mind for your next study session…

Series masterlist

Prev: Lesson 1: Female anatomy | Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills Next: Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Thanks so much for reading!

Remember, writers thrive on your comments and reblogs, so if you liked this little extra please show some love 💕

A/N 2: I added this as an extra because I wanted Eddie and reader to share a special first kiss, but couldn’t work out how to fit it into the main Lessons without making them ridiculously long. I hope you like it!

The taglist for this series is open whilst it’s ongoing, and I have a general one now too - just let me know if you’d like to join either 😀 My masterlist, where you’ll find more Eddie and Steddie fics

Taglist (open whilst this series is ongoing): @airen256 @bimbobaggins69 @urlbitchin @jamdoughnutmagician @rustboxstarr @bl4ckt00thgr1n @bexreadstoomuch @cozmiccass @sadlittlesquish @yujyujj @cluz1babe @thunderg @aysheashea @paleidiot @cadence73 @eddie-munsons-wifey @siriuslysmoking @neville-is-my-husband @aestheticaltcow @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lightcommastix @ungracefularchimedes @spenciesprincess @joejoequinnquinn @freshoutthewomb2 @sunshinepeachx @tlclick73 @hellfirenacht @yourdailymemedelivery @wendyxox @madaboutmunson @80s-addict @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @eddiesxangel @bunny7232 @starksbabie

[soo0mi]

༄｡° as autumn leaves start to fall.. 🍂 ࿔*:･ﾟ

yang jungwon as your boyfriend (spooky szn edi!) ᡣ𐭩·⁀ ༄

ᯓ notes: dreaming about these dates rn cus SOMEONE has to study for state testing and is too busy studying to go on dates w me so i will live these dreams out through friends and fics 😓

ᯓ wordcount: 1515 / 1.5k words

oh, and, fic playlist here -> autumn

1.) Pumpkin Carving 🎃🍂

golden hour — jungwon’s house

as you two lay out a comfy setup in the backyard: a soft, miffy blankets, fairy lights casting a warm glow, and two steaming cups of hot cocoa by your side. you two are surrounded by a selection of imperfect pumpkins you picked out together this morning, each one varying sizes and maybe a little lopsided. you scan the pumpkins, making sure to pick out the best one. after what jungwon describes as “an eternity,” you finally pick one that’s a bit dented on the back side while jungwon goes for the biggest, determined to create a masterpiece you’d surely love

you settle in and begin carving, laughing as pumpkin guts and seeds fly everywhere

jw: “euughh, digging in these pumpkins feels so nasty…” he says, immaturity filling his mind

yn: “you’re nastyyyy!!” you hit his side with your elbow, careful not to get any pumpkin slime on him

jungwon chuckles, getting back to being focused and careful as he starts tracing out his design. you try to take a peak at his design but jungwon hastily hides it from you, pulling the pumpkin closer to his chest

“no peeking”

you scoff, “i bet mine’s prettier”

jungwon raises his eyebrow, “yeah? we’ll see abt that when we show each other” he sounds oddly confident, it pissed you off (as a joke)

yn: “awfully cocky for a guy who failed middle school art” the atmosphere became quiet as you two start to get serious about this “competition”

. ࣪⭑ 🍂⊹ . ݁🎃࣪ . ⭑

meanwhile, you were trying to carve a cute snoopy outline but ended up with something slightly wonky, making jungwon laugh even harder

“i thought you said no peeking!” you defend with a giggle, tossing a handful of pumpkin seeds his way

jungwon gasps dramatically, pretending to shield his masterpiece from your seedy attack

45 minutes later — sundown

as you continue carving, the sun dips below the horizon, and the twinkling lights around you make everything feel warm and magical, like it as a disney film

jungwon quietly carves a tiny pumpkin, glancing at you with a soft smile before revealing it with a grin — it’s carved with your initials and a little heart

your cheeks turn pink, you can’t help but tease him about it, even though u secretly loved his romantic gesture

“u want me so bad, jungwon”

“pfft, you’re one to speak” he rolls his eyes playfully at your bad joke

finally, (several pumpkins later…), you finally made a perfect snoopy and woodstock carving. you light little candle inside your pumpkin, getting up and stepping back to admire your creation

“damn, for 12 pumpkins, that’s actually really cute” jw exclaims as he looks at his surroundings, which is filled with pumpkin guts and seeds

“show me urs then!” you defend your mess, “bet it’s a real halloween masterpiece”

“hmmm, don’t get too scared then, yeah?” he turns his pumpkin around, revealing the cutest surprise

the words ‘will you be my gf?’ carved into the middle

“you’ve made me the happiest i’ve ever been these past few weeks, yn,” he gets up and grabs a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind the rose bushes, “will you do me the honor of being my one and only girl?”

you hold on to his shaky hands, attempting to stabilize them, “holy shit jungwon,” you look up at him with teary eyes

he wipes away your tears, “wait are you oka—”

you cut him off with a peck on the lips, “i’d be delighted to be your girlfriend” you pull away as your other hand finds his cheek

jungwon’s eyes widen in excitement, “told u mine was better” he pulls you in for a warm hug, kissing the top of your head

with the crisp fall air around you two, candles flickering, soulful music, and laughter filling the night, it was a perfect autumn memory, one you will always remember

2.) Haunted Mansion 🪓

09:43 pm — haunted mansion

after a 4 minute walk from the parking lot, you and jungwon were greeted by flickering lanterns casting eerie shadows on the stone walls of a nearby fence. fog drifting around you and ghostly sounds echoing through the air, you both try to act brave, but your heart is racing a little faster than usual.

jungwon, hearing your heart beat out of your chest, brushes his hand against yours, causing you to jump

“jungwon!” you place your hand on your heart

he giggles, “i swear i didn’t mean to scare u! i was trying to hold your hand, trust me” he watches you roll your eyes

he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “dont worry,” he rubs your upper arm, “im here to protect you —unless it’s a monster — then we’re both running..” you giggle at his playful demeanor, knowing you’re about to be entering the biggest mistake of your life

you two enter the mansion, hallways dimly lit with only an occasional flash of light and haunting noises seeping from every corner. the suspense is getting to you, and with each creak of the floor, you cling a little tighter to jungwon’s arm, practically bruising him. he tries to lighten the mood, cracking silly jokes and attempting to scare you first from here and there but a well timed ‘boo’ from a hidden actor jumpscares you both

jungwon lets out a small yelp, sending you into fits of laughter in the middle of the hallway

you make your way into a room of mirrors, where your reflections are warped and ghostly, occasionally seeing a fake actor behind your reflection. you laugh at jungwons exaggeratedly frightened face, only to shriek when a real zombie actor suddenly appears behind you in the mirror, making you both bolt towards the exit, laughing and breathless, still holding your sweaty hands

finally out of the maze of hallways, you both pause to catch your breaths, cheeks flushed from the thrill

“i can’t wait to do this again next year” jungwon looks at your reddened face and tired expression, how can one be so cute..

“no.” you pat his cheek, knowing damn well this was going to be an annual date

3.) lazy day-te 🤍

sleepover — yn’s house

the living room is bathed in a cozy warm glow, halloween lamps twinkling along the house, the spooky decorations jungwon surprised you with adding a festive touch. you and jungwon matching minion onesies, him being the crazy purple one of course

the evening begins in the kitchen, youve been sending jungwon tiktoks about the infamous pumpkin bagels, unfortunately located across the country so jw had the lovely idea of making it in the comfort of (basically) his own home.

first, flour. you try to carefully scoop one cup into the mixing bowl, but jungwon decides to be extra dramatic. he grabs a handful and releases it from high above, creating a cloud of flour that drifts straight into your hair

“jungwon!” you protest, brushing flour from your face with a pout, while he laughs, wiping a bit of flour from his own cheek, “you’re so annoying—“

he cuts you off with a kiss, carefully deepening it by grabbing your nape. his tongue hesitantly licking your bottom lip, asking for an entrance. you part your lips, allowing his tongue to slip in.

“better now?” he pulls away from the kiss, catching for breath.

you punch his stomach lightly, “you’re so bad, won”

he giggles as he goes back in for seconds

after making the batter — 39 minutes later

you two finally put the bagels in the oven, “finally,” you stretch, “would’ve been faster if u werent here” u squish his cheeks, which are — in fact — softer than a baby’s butt

“it’s more fun when i’m with you” — jw.

“more like suffering” — yn.

while the bagels bake, you and jungwon spent the next hour talking about random topics — life, feelings, new discoveries, etc. — and flirting.. (yuckyyy)

*ding*

the timer on the oven beeps, cutting through your convo. you both turn towards the kitchen, the sound appealing to your delightful distraction. “they’re done!!”

jungwon grabs your wrist playfully, pulling you back down as he gets up

“race u there”

“no fair, cheater!!” you quickly get up but, to no surprise, he’s already in front of the oven

“slow poke” he teased as you poke your tongue out at him

standing side by side at the oven, you both lean in, the warmth flowing up to greet you. the bagels are bright orange, their shapes accurate resembling wonky pumpkins

“they’re so cuteee!” you take your phone out and start taking pictures of these miniature pumpkins

“just like you” jungwon mumbles to himself as he stares at you in awe

as he pulls the tray out, the laughter and playful banter continue, but beneath it all, there’s a warmth growing between your relationship, one that feels just as satisfying as the freshly baked bagels waiting to be enjoyed by two people who deeply love each other

i wish men knew what women wanted without having to ask for it 😓 #HopelesslyRomantic #FrickMen #WhoWantMe